Pirate Bride
by anotherblastedromantic
Summary: He had married her in an attempt to save her from slavery. She was awkward, ugly. Their marriage was a secret, kept from all of his silly lovesick lovers. Nobody knew he really loved her. Not even him.
1. Black Fire

**Prologue:

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**

He was undead.

She had seen many dead bodies in her time, claimed by the unforgiving and tremulous waves in the vast depths of the sea. It was what made sailing exciting and adventurous; it was what captivated the hearts of men and bound them forever to her: no matter if you were the strongest, hardest man on the earth, you were no match for the tempestuous, ever-changing sea. The fact that she was wild and untamed made her even more entrancing to them.

But he was not like the others. The others had escaped her wrath well enough, but eventually succumbed to death as she pressed whatever shred of hope they had left from them…

in the dark…

in the crushing depths…

at the bottom.

He had survived in her hell, yet he had died just the same.

She carried him to her shores, she passed over his limp, unmoving body and she pushed him gently to the sand. She waited. For a moment, she thought he had gone to join the others; he had boarded the ship to the Netherworld when she had not been looking. She was a little disappointed; she had hoped this one would be different. He looked different. He wasn't wearing the usual rag-tag clothes that seamen dressed themselves in- his were those worn by a highly-ranked officer or a lord of some sort. Oh, she had seen many fat merchants in their ornamental coats and young navy men in their red and white uniforms, and pirates in whatever they could pilfer. But here was a man highly decorated. Doubtlessly, of course, she had claimed men decorated more than this one, kings, even, but this one carried an air of power about him. She could feel it in the waters around him, as he was blown from his post into her waters and as he sank to her depths. He struggled for a few minutes to reach the surface, but stopped, with an empty, bitter smile upon his face, and embraced her. It was power… lost. When she pressed herself upon him, however, that was when she noticed he was different. He looked right at her, the traces of his bitter smile still on his lips, and then grew motionless. She was taken a bit off-guard by it. In all her years, only a handful had looked at her before dying- it was only natural to focus on lost loved ones or passing on when being crushed or drowned, so understandably no one _really_ acknowledged her.

When the job was done, she lifted him to the surface, and carried him to safety, just to make sure he hadn't passed on. He laid face-down upon the sand for a long while without moving. She grew impatient, and was tempted to push him back into his grave, but stopped at a twitch of his finger. Then, a splutter, and a deep gasp for air. She stood before him as he weakly clutched at the sand and pulled himself up to his knees. Then he looked at her again, standing in the sunlight.

He had changed in the deep. Before, there was a dim light in his eyes as he struggled, and when he stopped, the light went out. Empty. But the dark had morphed him into something different, something even more sinister than he could have been before. His eyes were black, but not empty. They were filled with an unfathomable evil that radiated from his soul and enabled his body to live.

Black fire. These were the eyes of a dead man walking.

He prostrated himself before her, and offered himself. She would have taken his soul, but she feared there was no soul left to take. All the same, she asked him what he wanted in exchange for his troubles.

He gave her one word.

Sparrow.


	2. Marysue Smith

**Author's Note:** Welcome, my pretties, to my newest fanfic! I am curious to see how this will turn out. I hoped I spiked your curiosity by my lacking summary, and now I hope you will read on and tell me what you think. Do you ever get tired of the constant fics you read with beautiful young lasses giving their hearts willingly to our favorite pirate scallywag, noneother than Jack Sparrow? Well, I sure as heck do. So I decided to make this, and bind poor Jack to a young bride- a bride which no one knew about. We'll get to her later in the story, but first, my duckies, we will open on Jack's latest encounter with a lovesick young OC, about to given a rude awakening. Ooh, I feel so malicious right now! Join me as we begin our story…

**BEFORE YOU READ THIS STORY:** I think I've solved the problem of flaming chapters 1 through 3. Chapters 1 through 3, revolving around MarySue Smith, who is not a main character, are combined into one mega mock-chapter. If you want to flame me on the basis of reading chapter 1, I'd suggest reading at least to chapter 3 before doing so. Thank you so much for your time, and enjoy the story!

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**Pirate Bride:**

Marysue Smith gazed dreamily at the glistening sapphire sea. Life could not have been more perfect. She stood on the deck of the infamous _Black Pearl_, captained by the sexiest of all pirates, Captain Jack Sparrow.He was the love of her life- her soul mate. Jack, with his handsome frame, his deep loving eyes, his mischievous smile, had given her a reason to live. She had fallen in love with him the minute she saw him ransacking her parent's mansion and pausing for a long drink of the half-empty bottle of rum in his hand. As he cat-walked towards her, something about him lit her heart afire- and she knew it was love.

"Pardon me, lass," he slurred oh-so-wonderfully, "Do you happen to know where I've left my ship? It's really big," he started making hand gestures, trying to describe its appearance, "with black sails and a rotten crew and…" he paused, tilting. He peered past her, into the bay. "Blast it. Wait for me!" he called, running past her in a rather womanly fashion (which, in truth, Marysue found appealing).

Marysue called after him. "Wait! Pirate!" he turned.

"Now, lass, I really don't have time for this."

"Please, take me with you," she begged, taking his dirty hand in hers, "I'll do anything you like. I can cook, clean, anything. I cannot stand it here with my incredibly rich parents anymore. I long for adventure!"

Jack looked down (she had a feeling at her impressive cleavage), grinned mischievously, and slurred, "Oh, I suppose so."

Marysue giggled with glee, dashing back to her house and gathering all of her clothes. She returned as quick as she could, and hurried up to the dock, to find her mysterious new friend waiting. "Welcome," he grinned, gold teeth gleaming in the moonlight, "To the _Black Pearl_, m'lady."

Marysue sighed. That had been a wondrous night. Since then, she had become a pure pirate lady. She cooked for the crew, cleaned up around the ship, and was beginning to learn how to use a sword, all thanks to Jack. She soon fell desperately in love with Jack, and he obviously her. They had spent an amazing night docked in Bermuda, when they shared their first passionate kiss. Jack reached for her corset strings, and she untied them for him. His roaming lips made their way down from hers to her slender neck, then the heaving plane of her bosom. Deftly they slipped into passionate, burning desire. Marysue had felt things she had never even dreamed of. Jack was the man of her dreams: mysterious, playful, and loving. With her long blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, cherry red lips, and rose pink cheeks, she supposed he had a good right to fall in love with her. He would never be untrue. Marysue was prepared to spend the rest of her life with this man… they would be together forever!

Annamaria, the first mate, approached her. "His Royal Drunkenness bids for you, duckie." She said, rolling her eyes. Marysue emmitted a squeal of glee. Oh, how he made her giddy! She rushed to his quarters, preparing for the undying, everlasting love that awaited her.

"Silly brat." Annamaria said behind her back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mary sue took a deep breath, and entered the darkness of Jack's quarters. She blinked her lovely long eyelashes to get her eyes used to the dark, and looked around for her lover. The room was kept in fair condition, (she had a taste for cleaning); with a table sitting in the middle, and a bowl of apples sitting fresh in a bowl. For some reason, Jack loved apples. He ate them all day; he seemed rather pleased with himself as he sat in a big red velvet chair (with brass-colored arms and legs, very fashionable for a pirate's) munching away. This was just one of Jack's mad habits that Marysue found so adorable. For example, she also found it so cute when he paraded around the deck with that cute little walk of his. He kind of walked on his tip toes, with his arms swooshing about like wind sails. It was so becoming. There was also the dark lines under his eyes (Marysue never go why they were there… was that eyeliner?) Oh, those chocolatey brown eyes: so deep, so mysterious. Marysue had to keep from swooning at the very thought of it.

"Jack?" she called in her sweet, sing-song voice. "Jack, are you in here?"

"Ahoy, love," came is deep voice, giving Marysue shivers of joy.

"I never got to thank you for saving me from nearly drowning that other day," she said, twirling her golden locks, "I would've died had you not come, ripped off that heavy dress, and dragged me on deck to safety. You seem like you have a lot of practice in saving people like that." Marysue didn't bother to think about what she had just said.

"I do what I can, lass." his voice came from behind her, his breath coming soft on her neck. Marysue straightened up, her breathing quickening.

"Is…" she said breathlessly, "Is there anything I could possibly… do… in order to repay you?"

"I can think of a few things," Jack traced his two fingers down her shoulder onto her spine. They felt rough, in a manly sense. Marysue felt herself slowly succumb to his charm, her bosom heaving now form excitement. His fingers continued on their merry way down to the buttons and ribbons on the back of her dress, and he began to quickly and expertly undo them. Her dress soon slid off her body as if it were oil on soap. Marysue turned to him to claw at his shirt, pouncing at him with hard, passionate kisses. She was getting hotter, and hotter, and hotter, until she couldn't take it anymore. He pulled her to his bed, the top sheets perfectly folded down- as if they were trying to cover up the delicious scandal of the whole thing with polite formality. But there was nothing stopping Marysue now. She had waited so long for this moment- the moment when she and her soul mate expressed their true, undying love to one another in the most animal-like, passionate, lovely way. Marysue squealed with glee as Jack planted kisses down her neck to her perfect, pale neckline. Jack laughed a rough, growling laugh as curled his arms around her waist and she his neck, as they began to make the most pure, magnificent love.

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Mr. Williams, one of the shipmates, sat in a chair outside the captain's quarters in the moonlight. Mr. Gibbs, who to everyone was known as the 2nd mate, approached Mr. Williams quickly.

"I need to see the captain," he said, huffing and puffing, "Knightly says we're approaching land. We'll arrive there by tomorrow"

"No one gets in to see the captain," Mr. Willaims said, chiseling away at a piece of wood, "Not nobody, not no how. Savvy?"

Mr. Gibbs looked up at the sound of yet another screech of glee coming muffled from inside the cabin. "Aye," he sighed, weary, "I get ye."

Annamaria, standing close by at the wheel, took her dirk and stabbed a couple of times into the wooden side. "Will she just shut up?" she snapped,

"For five minutes! That's all I want! To not hear her for five minutes!"Cotton, at the mast, with his faithful parrot, chuckled to himself.

"Craa!" the parrot screeched, "Anchor's away! Craa!"

"For once, I agree." Annamaria grunted, turning back to the wheel.

Mr. Gibbs sighed, and went to go have a drink.

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Marysue stirred from her peaceful sleep, sitting up drowsily in the satin covers. She saw jack, in the morning light, hurrying around- rummaging through drawers and muttering to himself.

"Jack, darling?" she rubbed he eyes, "What's... what's going on?"

"We're going to be arriving at Port Royal in a few hours," he murmured, "You best be gettin' yer garments on, love.

"Oh, Port Royal!" Marysue clapped her hands together, "I went there once. I just adored it."

"Where's my blasted belt..." Jack checked under the bed, mumbling curses.

When he popped his head back up again, Marysue grabbed at his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his shirt.

"What's your hurry, Tiger?" she said in a seductive tone, licking her lips. Jack raised an eyebrow; and pulled away, continuing his search for his belt.

Marysue sank back into the pillows, pouting.

"Are you going to be pillaging?" she sulkily said, then smiled to herself, wondering how fast she could say "she sulkily said" five times. She sulkily said she sulkily said she sulkily said...

"It's probable." Jack said, "Ah! here it is." He fastened it on himself. "That, and I'm going to pop by me good friend Will's house later on," he paused. "Drat. I don't believe I should have told ye that."

"Oh, I trust you to not go to any brothels or anything overwrought with dubious women, if that's what you mean, darling," Marysue turned on her stomach, smiling. "After all- we are true, faithful lovers now. I know it when you were making your love so physically to me last night. You really do love me perpetually," she sighed, "And I love you. I'll always love you. Forever. And ever. And ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever  
and ever and ever..."

"I'd prefer ye didn't do that, lass," Jack kneaded his forehead, "I've got a terrible hangover this morning-"

"Oh, let Mommy make it all better," Marysue ran to him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Now. Tell me what your friend Will is like."

Jack grinned a gold-toothed smile. "He's a good lad. A terrible sappy bleeding-heart, all full of integrity and honor and all that rot. I met the little whelp a few years ago when I was trying to commandeer a ship at the port. It's actually an interesting story-"

"Oh I'd love to meet him," Marysue interrupted, "He sounds just lovely. And I'm sure he'll be thrilled to meet his friend's new fiancé."

"Which friend?" Jack went back to finding his clothes.

"You, lamb's lettuce," she laughed. "He'll be happy to meet _your _new fiancé."

"Fiancé?" Jack looked up, a little nervous now at the word.

"Oh, don't play coy with me, silly-willy, it makes me want you even more." Marysue looped her arms around him. Jack, with his free arms, fetched his boots, and tried to shove them on. "I mean, obviously you're going to marry me, aren't you?"

Jack didn't say anything. He just shoved his other boot on.

"Aren't you, Jackie-wackie?" Marysue released her arms, looking into his melting eyes. Jack was silent still as he grabbed his hat, and strode out the door. Marysue sighed. She had no idea why he was acting so funny. Must be the marriage bug. She giggled at the thought of it: married to Captain Jack Sparrow! With that, Marysue began to dress for the day.

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Captain Jack Sparrow was confronted by his crew that morning at the wheel. It was Mr. Gibbs, who knew him best, (other than Annamaria, that is,) who was given the unfortunate job of breaking the bad news to his captain.

Jack turned, and rolled his eyes at the sight of his piqued crew. "What is it this time that's got yer bloomers all in a knot, gents?"

"Jack..." Gibb started.

"Captain Jack, if ye please," he reminded him.

"Captain, then. We've been thinking..."

"Oh no. What did I tell you scallywags about that? You know where thinking will get you." he turned back to the wheel, only to be turned around again by the dwarf man, whom everyone affectionately referred to as 'Big Papa'. Jack gave him one of his crazy-eyed "Jack looks".

"Anyways," Gibbs said, pulling Big Papa away, "About that Miss Smith of yers..."

"She's not mine," Jack retorted.

"Oh yes she is, Jack," Annamaria pushed Gibbs out of the way. "You had your fun with her, at our cost. She's annoying, Jack. She's a bloody menace to all things on this ship, including what wits we have about us left!" At his, her eye began to twitch uncontrollably. "It's been 10 hours, Jack! We haven't slept in 10 whole hours!"

"That's the life of a pirate-"

"I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER HIGH-PITCHED GIGGLE! I WILL DIE! SHE IS POSSIBLY EVEN MORE LOATHESOME THAN THE DEVIL HIMSELF! SHE COULD POSSIBLY BE- NO, IS- THE ANTICHRIST!"

Annamaria burst into sobs, rocking herself back and forth. Big Papa comfortingly patted her on the back. Jack stared.

"It's like this, Jack," Gibbs said wearily, "We've come to decision, It's gotten so bad we are prepared to take it to mutiny."

"What?"

"It's either her, or you. Savvy?"

Jack heard Marysue calling from the cabin. "Oh Jackie-wackie..." Jack shuddered, and without a moment's hesitation said, "Aye. Her."

There was a cheer from the crew; then Marysue emerged. Voices died down; glares shot out. Annamaria twitched even harder.

Marysue was dressed in soft pink today. Pearls embedded in lace outlined the low collar of her dress; she wore a pearl necklace and earrings to match it. Her hair was pulled away from her face, with a single curl hanging down, framing her sweet round cheeks. She tilted her head. "Why is everyone so quiet today? Has a very big cat got all of your tongues?" At the joke, she began to giggle hysterically. Jack backed away, quite frightened.

"Oh, hang it all." Annamaria growled, and grabbed Marysue by her beautiful golden locks.

"Ow! Hey, what are you-" Marysue shrieked, "Jack! Jack, save me!"

Annamaria dragged the wailing Marysue to the side of the ship, hurling her overboard. Her screams ended in a satisfying splash. The crew erupted into spontaneous applause, hooting and cheering. Annamaria smugly spat over the side, proud of her work.

"Jack! Jack, help! Jack, I love you! Don't you love me? Help me!" Marysue screeched at the top of her lungs, flailing in the water.

"Sorry, love." Jack yelled, tossing her a floating device. Big Papa had cut the string attaching it to the _Black Pearl_.

"Jack!" Marysue cried.

"That's the life of a pirate, duckie!" Annamaria jeered.

The _Black Pearl_ sailed to the line of land approaching on the horizon, her crew feeling much happier due to the lightening of their weeping load becoming smaller and smaller in the distance.

"To Port Royal!" Jack shouted.


	3. An Unexpected Visit

**Author's Note:** I'm back! Woo-hoo! Took me long enough, right? But we've had exams recently and things have been sort of hectic. I managed to scrape together this little tasty. I know how you all are happy that Marysue's gone (but don't get too comfy, she'll turn up again,) and you wanted to get the story rolling. All in good time, my pretties, aaaalllllllll in good time. I plan to draw this thing out to its limit. Thank you so much for your generous reviews, and I hope you find this one satisfactory!

**P.S.: **This chapter has undergone some changes, since AWE has seriously changed a lot of details and many of my plans on how to end this story. So... you might want to go back and read. I might even put in a prologue, who knows.

**P.S.S.:** I suppose Norrington lives in this one. He's one of my favorite characters; I just can't let him go.

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Will Turner had just finished a hard day's work on the ship, _The Flying Dutchman_. He had to hand it to Jack- being a captain was almost maddening. It was hard not to slip into bad habits, such as drinking so much rum that it caused one to saunter about the deck. But Elizabeth kept him out of that. He was planning on meeting his wife, the love of his life, forever and ever, in a few days. Because he had been doing his job so well and his love for Elizabeth was so pure, after about a year Calypso granted him more time on land to be with her: every three months, Will was able to return to shore for 18 days. Elizabeth, now with child, said she had to tell him something very important in her letter. But when he got there, first he was going to clean himself up. No self-respecting woman would ever maintain feelings toward any man who allowed himself to remain in a smelly, sweaty state. Not even a pirate. Will had learned this life postulate one day shortly after his good friend Captain Jack Sparrow had managed yet another escape attempt from hanging, and had jumped off a building into the sea. Then, at the most opportune time in the world, his crew chose to sail his ship around a cliff, and meet him at the bay. Will looked on at this whole extravagant escape strangely in a nonchalant manner: this was nothing new when you hung out with Captain Jack Sparrow. Governor Swann, Elizabeth's father, was asking Elizabeth if choosing a life with Will was what she really wanted. After all, he said, Will was a blacksmith.

"No," Elizabeth stated proudly, glancing at Will affectionately, "he's a pirate."

Will thought that this would be a perfectly opportune moment to plant a big smacker on Elizabeth's perfectly glossed lips, in sort of a finale-to-a-Disney-movie fashion.

Governor Swann, while Will was giving his daughter the most incredible kiss of her life, thought it a perfectly opportune moment to lean over and get a good whiff of Mr. Turner. You see, Governor Swann lived by the basic principle that you can always tell what sort of a man a person is by smelling him. A prince, for example, might try and sneak out into the streets disguised as a pauper, but everyone could so obviously know just by getting his scent as he hobbled past. And vice versa. "You can always determine a person's social caste by the way he smells, William," he used to say to Will when he was younger and working as an apprentice, "and don't ever forget that." Will always thought that if a hunting hound could speak and came across Governor Swann, they would indeed have a very long, interesting conversation.

Anyway, Elizabeth proudly stated, "No, he's a pirate." And while Will and Elizabeth were engrossed in the Disney-movie-finale moment, Governor Swann chose this moment to walk up to Will and inhale deeply. He stumbled back, holding his nose. "Well he certainly smells like one, doesn't he?"

"Oh, Daddy, stop it," Elizabeth chided, burying her pretty little head in Will's manly shoulder, and quickly withdrawing it. "Oh, darling, he is right." She turned her head to take a gasp of air.

Will turned an embarrassed shade of beet red. Will had just been fighting off the Governor's soldiers to try and protect Jack from hanging, you see, and had gotten quite a work out in the process. From that moment, will vowed to never let Governor Swann or his daughter ever catch him again smelling of manly work-out sweat. Even though Elizabeth had turned pirate herself, she still seemed to smell great all the time. Will never understood how. He had seen her fight three men at a time and work up a marvelous sweat, yet when he got near to her, she smelled as pretty as a rose. As always. It certainly wasn't very pirate-like, and it made Will feel a little insecure. Which is _not_ how a pirate captain is supposed to feel. Even though Governor Swann was sadly excecuted and Elizabeth probably wouldn't care if he smelled bad if he confronted her about it, he still liked to smell good around her... just to make himself feel special. So he continued to honor his vow.

Will approached the captain's quarters, and fumbled with the keys. He leaned against the door to steady himself, and tumbled in to find the door had already been opened. Will got up quickly, drawing his sword.

"Hello?" he ventured, looking in corners, "I know you're in here, show yourself, naive!"

"You don't need to be so formal with your guests, whelp," came the rough voice from the living room that he knew oh-so-well. Will wheeled around to find Jack sitting on one of the chairs, boots up and crossed sitting on the table. He was helping himself to a juicy apple, drops of juice falling down upon his beard; he wiped them away nonchalantly. "We're already on friendly terms, aren't we?"

"Jack!" Will cried, striding over to him to give him a good, manly hand-shaking. "It's so good to see you! How are you since we last met?"

"Faring well, I suppose," Jack stated unsurely- he wasn't used to polite small talk.

"You'll have to forgive me, I've just been at the wheel and I'm all sweaty and not in a state to greet guests properly." He bid him to sit down.

Jack stared at him confusedly. "You're not, what sort of self-respecting man is? What sort of self-respecting _captain _is? Really, mate, I told you to get yerself a girl, but I didn't mean _become_ one, with all that clean tripe. You should know that by now; the _Flying Dutchman_ isn't exactly the King's personal traveling ship."

"Oh. Sorry," said Will. (Deep down he was somewhat relieved to be around Jack again.) "So," he said, grabbing two bottles of rum from the back of the cupboard, "What do I owe this honored visit, Captain?"

"Well… er, it's funny you should ask that… because… because… well, lad, to be honest with ye, I'm in a bit of a fix."

"Oh?" Will grinned. "Are there any more treacherous cursed pirates roaming about in need of defeating?"

"No…"

"Any buried treasure that you need help finding a map to?"

"No, it's nothing like that-"

"Well, then," he stopped, his hand on the chair. "What is it?" He handed a bottle to Jack, who hurriedly popped off the cork and took a swig. He didn't seem himself; he was too nervous about something. What could it be?

Jack paused, taking another swig. "Well, lad, you and I, we've been good mates for a couple of years, and… I just… I need someone to be me… me first mate, savvy?"

"Not exactly. Why didn't you ask Gibbs or Annamaria or someone?"

"Because Gibbs doesn't know how to handle the situation properly; and Annamaria is so put off right now she would soon as cut off me Unmentionables and tie me to a killer beehive if I asked her." Jack snapped, annoyed. He paused, and said in a softer tone, "The only person who can really help me right now is you, whelp."

"Jack," Will said gently, "What sort of mission is this?"

Jack put his head in his grimy hands for a moment, rubbing his eyes. He didn't look at all well. "I've got to visit someone."

"Someone? Like… like an old enemy?"

"Not exactly."

"Then who? Come on, Jack, spit it out!" Will was practically whining like a child now from the suspense. "Who?"

Jack didn't say anything. He just put the bottle to his lips, and took a long chug until there was nothing left. He stared with one eye to see if he drank everything.

"Who, for God's sake?" Will repeated.

"Mmwwf." Jack mumbled.

Will blinked. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Mmwff."

"If you could repeat it just one more time-"

"ME WIFE, BLAST IT! MY WIFE!"

Will was about to sit down, but at the sound of the word coming from Captain Jack Sparrow's lips, he missed and fell with a crash to the ground. "Well, that's interesting…" he said, perfectly stupefied.

"It's not interesting, it's a bloody nightmare!" Jack cried.

"I… I can't believe it!" Will stammered. "You… married? How? I thought even God couldn't pull you into the bonds of matrimony!"

"I didn't either," Jack groaned. "It was all sort of a mistake. We were both young… well, I was younger than I am now, and it was all sort of… a rush."

"I've heard it's normally like that. But… what could have possibly possessed you to _marry_ someone?"

"I can't remember. I just did it. I believe I had drank myself silly that night, because I don't recall much." At that, he grabbed Will's bottle, and took a long drink.

"So… you need me to accompany you when you go visit your… wife?"

"Only you know your way around when it comes to women and their crazy emotions. I know how to charm them into anything, but when they get crazy on me… I'm lost."

"I really don't know all that much about-"

"Of course you do, you're married to that Elizabeth of yours, and I've only spent one day- and several hours worth of fighting- with her, and she drove me crazy!" Jack said, his right eye sort of twitching.

"Crazier." Will said under his breath.

"I need you for emotional support. I haven't visited her in 6 years, you understand."

"_6 years?_" Will was a little astonished, even for a man. "That's not exactly being a good husband, Jack."

"Do I look like a good husband to you?" Jack cried, indicating his pirate-y mien. "I didn't fully realize the situation until it was too late, as usual! And I didn't want to divorce the poor girl at such a young age, it would ruin her. So we made a bargain that it would be kept a secret. I would come and visit her every so often to see how she was doing, and give her a nice percent of our plunder so she could establish a living for herself. She wouldn't breathe a word about this to anyone who as trying to track me down, like that flimsy little Commodore Norrington. How's he been getting on, by the way?"

"Moody like a pregnant woman."

"I'm glad to hear he hasn't changed. Anyway, I… I just need someone to be there to help smooth things over if she gets a little… livid, if you get me drift. I can't go anywhere all by me onesies anymore." He sighed, a looked at him with hopeful brown eyes. "What say ye, whelp? Will you help an old scallywag?"

Will grinned, and shook his friend's hand in that manly way that men shake hands when they've settled a bargain. "It's a deal." He said, "For an old friend, I'll give you 18 days, and then I must return to my work. We'll take my ship- it's the fastest."

Jack grinned his gold-toothed grin, and sat back. "Marvelous. We'll head out tomorrow, savvy?"

"Oh, I probably should tell Elizabeth…" Will paused, smelling himself and thinking of her deceased father and his life's philosophies. He sat back. "Well, I'll tell her a little later. While we're here, why don't you tell me how you ever came to be in such a situation that you became a married man." he snickered.

"Aye." Jack sat back, taking another drink, and began to recall the first time he ever saw his bride.

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Please review, or I shall tie you to a hive of killer bees and hit you with an Oompa-Loompa! Tah-dah! 


	4. The Pirate Bride

**Author's Note:** Hey! I'm back! Took me a while, huh? Did I say this in the last chapter? Okay, I have a perfect excuse for not updating. Frankly, I moved. I cannot tell you where or anything because you might be a psychopath stalker and that would be bad, but my computer was down anyway. But I got it up again, and now I can update again! Yaaaaaaay!

So in the last chapter, I got some mixed reviews. Most were like, "The Pirate Bride is not Annamaria? WHAT THE (censored) IS THIS!" But some were like, "Um, okay, I'm cool with that." Yes, she's not Annamaria, but that doesn't mean Annamaria won't be in here. We love Annamaria, after all. We don't want to shun her. We are also afraid that she might throw us off a ship if we do shun her. Do not ask us why we suddenly started referring to ourselves in a the plural first-person form.

To compliment this strangely long Author's Note, I've written a long chapter. Huzzah! I got the setting for this chapter from one scene in the Disneyland ride Pirates of the Caribbean (love that ride), so that's pretty interesting. And I tried to put some mangled French in here. Very mangled. But the beginning is sort of risqué, if you get my drift. Whatever. Just please review! Thankies, my duckies.

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It was a hot midsummer's night when the pirate ship of the _Black Pearl_ ported at the town of Vierge Harbor. Vierge Harbor had been a trading outpost for New France a few decades ago, but recently it had gone to chaos from frequent pirate raids and clotted amounts of traders and entrepreneurs with dubious incentives. There was a quaint little aristocratic village on the other side of the island sitting pretty in the middle of the Caribbean, but their city walls were mostly locked, apprehensive of the proximity of the Harbor beyond, so nobody really bothered to pillage and plunder there. In fact, they didn't give a hoot.

Captain Jack Sparrow and his motley crew had docked on Vierge Harbor, and Jack had permitted everyone to "roam freely about the premises" until morning. Jack went out his own way, accompanied by his first mate Barbossa and one of the other sailors affectionately nicknamed "Bootstraps Bill"; to see if he might come across a willing trader, and perhaps a little fun as well.

He had spent some time in several pubs and even more taverns, bargaining and dealing with traders from all over. There was a French fur trader, and also there was a man from Hispaniola who had been working for some time with a few Spaniards in silver mines in the Americas. Bootstraps had been holding a pleasant conversation with an Englishman working for the English East India trading Company. The Englishman had the same motives as Jack, when he ran into one of his old trading companions from Bangladesh. Jack quickly found a liking in the Bangladeshi man; he was a great deal of fun. He was short with a twirly black beard, and a throaty, funny laugh that made everyone laugh with him. The Bangladeshi man had been carrying incense with him, and he lit one up while ordering a round of drinks for everyone. He and Jack talked of foreign lands and of fine goods to trade. Finally, the man brought out a young woman who had been watching from a distance, introducing her as Saide.

Saide was what one would call "exotically beautiful", with long black hair like the Bangladeshi man's, smooth red lips and tiger-like golden eyes. And she was pretty well-built too. Saide grew very friendly with the three pirates and the Englishman, as they all continued their talks and bargaining. Jack had his eye on a bejeweled dirk, and was trying to weasel the Bangladeshi man into letting him have it for 31 shillings. However, the man proved to be a very experienced trader indeed, and was trying to convince Jack to raise the price. The more Jack gave in to raising it just a little bit more, the friendlier Saide got. She had been sitting at the Englishman's feet, laughing her tinkling laugh at his witty remarks, when she slowly got closer and closer to Jack. She knelt at his feet, and then she started running her finger up and down his boot, then when he beckoned she sat on his knee, then she started giggling and laughing at everything everyone said. Jack grew distracted from his dealings with the Bangladeshi man; his attentions drawing nearer to Saide as she crawled all over him, petting his thighs and massaging his shoulders. She squeaked and giggled hysterically as she ran to go fetch more drinks, not slapping any of the men if their hands ventured a little too close to her admirable assets- all of them. But she seemed closest to Jack, which made him feel flattered and ache to see what happened if he raised the price only just a little. She turned this way and that on his lap, finally twisting around to face him, her long legs stretched around his waist and the back legs of the chair, her bare arms wrapped about his neck. It was sort of a game, Jack would raise the price only a few shillings, Saide would edge just a little bit closer, and the Englishman would laugh hysterically at everything in the room- even the walls. The incense swirled above them like a spiced Indian cloud- they could taste it in their pints and smell it on each other's skin. Jack's head twirled and seemed to fall off all together, his tongue thrusting around in Saide's pretty mouth, his golden teeth nibbling on those juicy red lips. The room spun and danced, the Englishman fell out of his chair; Bootstraps was in hysterics now. There seemed to be more than one of Saide dancing around the room- was she multiplying herself? Or had there been four, five twins looking exactly like her all along? She was there on Barbossa's knee one minute, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, at the exact same time she was sitting wrapped around Jack, constricting him like a silky, spicy snake. The whole thing seemed like a giant maze or optical illusion, and it made Jack even dizzier than he already was. Jack felt himself suddenly toppling back from the dancing, twirling room, hitting the floor with a smack, Saide toppling onto him, her long black hair sweeping over his face and drowning him in black.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack, Barbossa, and Bootstraps awoke what seemed like ages later, all in a heap on the side of a road. A little boy was kicking at them, while examining their shiny guns and swords. He had taken a few things, and Bootstraps went to go get it back from him. With a sharp kick in the rear, Bootstraps sent the little boy running away empty-handed. At this, Bootstraps shrugged and said he had a way with little boys. Jack wondered what a son of Bootstrap Bill Turner might turn out like for a brief moment.

"I feel like doing something incredibly… stupid." Jack slurred, stumbling over Barbossa. Barbossa grunted in something that sounded like Scandinavian, pulling himself up.

So, they decided to try to walk the town in attempts to clear the civil wars of headaches going on in their heads. They passed taverns in which painted women came up to him and tried to invite him in, and then later on he thought the same women stomped up and gave him a harsh, tearful slap in the face. They passed one house that some drunkard had set fire to, and people were quickly rushing things out- including a pig. Barbossa mumbled something to the pig; Jack thought he was speaking in Scandinavian again. They passed a little canal, with a quaint little stone bridge built right over it, probably in the days when Vierge Harbor was still relatively tranquil. A crowd had been gathering around it, so the three pirates decided to go take a look.

As he pushed through the crowd, Jack saw a tall man in a- well, it was a very nice hat with a very frilly feather poking out of one side- and a gruff moustache to match his rusty, loud voice. Jack had an inkling that this man was a pirate as well. There were a few men below him, sitting in a boat or shouting on the sides of the canal, at the man. A crudely made banner that read "Take a Wench for a Bride." Jack suffered an involuntary shudder from reading the word. The man was standing next to a young woman dressed in a scarlet dress with a low neckline. The men around him were hooting and hollering and bidding numbers, and the man with his gruff voice was egging everyone on.

"Come on, lass, show 'em yer stuff," he poked at her. With that, the woman blinked her makeup-laden eyes and struck a pose. The crowd cheered with greedy glee. "Now," the man continued, "Let's start the bidding at about 5 shillings, shall we? 5 shillings, anyone?"

"6 shillings!"

"8 shillings!"

"10 shillings!"

"18 shillings!"

"18 shillings, then? 18 shillings? Going once, going twice, sold! To the gentleman with the moustache."

The woman pranced her way down to a toothless man with a giant pot belly and a bizarrely trimmed moustache. He joined her, guffawing, grabbing her arm and hurrying her off to who-knows-where. Jack hoped the young woman turned out all right. She had a nice pair of… um… earrings. The man went on.

"We found this one hiding in the back of one of the local run-out churches on 45th street, gents," the man grinned with what teeth he had left, "she was caught stealin' from the offering boxes," he let out a hoarse, rumbling laugh. The other men around him cackled and spat as well. The man tugged a chain, wrenching up another woman from the shadows. She was dressed in a black gown; Jack had seen them on some nuns from an abbey one time. (Please don't ask me how Jack ever got close enough to even see an abbey or any holy sanctuary, he just did.) He supposed that she might've been a nun at one time. That, or she stole the dress off someone. Jack now saw the woman were all connected together by chains: some weeping, some giggling, some probably had not two brain cells floating around in their heads. But when did that ever matter?

"So what shall it be, gents? 10 shillings?"

"13!"

"17"

"20, and I'll give ye me wife as extra!"

Everyone, including the three pirates, laughed at this one.

"I'll bid 25 shillings," said a man from the back. He seemed to be moderately wealthy, he was certainly dressed like it.

"25 shillings, then. 25? 25 shillings, anyone? Alright, going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the back!"

The woman in black was unchained, and pushed towards the wealthy man approaching. She, however, did not seem as pleased as her new mate. She turned around, reaching for something behind her, crying something in… was it French? Maybe Flemish. Jack's vision was still doubling, so it could've been Romanian for all he knew. Now whatever was behind her was causing quite a commotion. As Jack moved forward to see, Barbossa and Bootstraps following, he saw it was girl causing all the havoc. She was wailing, screeching, reaching for the sold young woman, crying something in another blasted language. Why was everyone so foreign this evening? The woman, as she was being pulled away, cried and tugged away from the wealthy man to kiss the girl's cheek, finally being led away silently. The girl, still screeching- Lord, what a din!- kicked and screamed, still chained to all the other ladies, causing them to fall forward like a coop of silly clucking chickens. Two men in the back ran forward to grab the girl, holding her back. She still screamed whatever it was the woman's name was, sobbing and growling at the same time. The crowd, enlivened now, stood throwing chunks of half-eaten food at her, cooing and cackling and making kissy noises.

"Oh, now here's one for ye, men! A real pepper, awful temper. Watch out there, Mr. Collins, she's liable to bite ye. Well, there she goes, I warned ye. We found 'er crouching not far from our previous lady in the church. She'll put up quite a fight, won't she? Come on, girlie, show us what yer made of!"

The girl shouted something incomprehensible, though probably obscene, at the man and the crowd, spitting and biting at everything that came near her. She kicked one man in a very prized area, biting the other one's arm. However, her chains were soon attended to, holding her down.

"What say ye, gentlemen?" the seller panted, quite worn out. "Shall we start at 5 shillings?"

For a transitory moment, not one man spoke. They all seemed pondersome, as if spending their good money on something so animal-like and not very attractive at all. Jack, his mind foggy and not functioning well tonight, spoke up for some unnamed reason finally.

"I'll bid 6 shillings." He slurred, probably coming out like 'Llbbddsskksshllnbbrrggg.' The girl stopped screaming for a moment to stare in confusion at him.

"Six shillings, anyone care to raise the amount? Six, then? Going once, going twice-"

"I'll bid seven!" Another man cried, "I'd like to break that filly, I'm in ranching, you know."

"Eight!"

"Nine!"

"Ten shillings." Jack blurted out once again. Barbossa turned to look at him as if he were in a state of clinical insanity.

"15 shillings!" the rancher chuckled.

"Twenty." Jack shot back.

"Captain," Bootstraps started, "Are ye sure ye want to be doing-"

"Twenty-five!"

"Thirty shillings." Jack snapped at him, immediately regretting what he had just said. Oh, Lord! If he got out of this one, he promised himself he would never drink till he was to drunk to function again. On the weekdays.

"Thirty-five, anyone? You sir? Are you going to bid thirty-five?" at this, the rancher shook his head. ""Very well! Thirty-five for the biting rattlesnake wench, going once, going twice, sold to the man with the makeup on his eyes and an inarticulate slur!"

The crowd parted as Jack stood, quite regretful of what he had just done, as the girl was unchained and practically dragged down off of the bridge. She squealed some more, finally tiring herself and submitting to a series of whimpers and sobs as she was brought forth to Jack, busy giving Barbossa a pleading, last-recourse look. Barbossa put his hands up, shrugging. Blast. He could be a real bloody traitor sometimes.

"'Ave a nice time wit' yer wife, mate," the man holding the girl murmured, "I 'ave great pity on ye."

Jack stared down at the weeping heap of a little girl. "Er… thanks," he mumbled, turning to leave.

"'Old on a minute!" the man standing up at the bridge shouted, "Don't be in such an 'urry to leave, lad! We gotta make this official!"

"Wha-" Jack protested as the two men manhandling the sobbing girl now grabbed him, pushing him towards where the gentleman and the woman before had gone. "I really don't think this is necessary-"

"Of course it's necessary," the man holding him grinned, "We admirable staff at Greasybeard's Marriage Service are always making sure we get the job completely done, and the includes a free marriage service."

"_Marriage!"_ Jack gurgled and sputtered, "I never wanted to _really_ marry the thing! What kind of-"

"The sign strictly said 'take a wench for a bride', didn't it? What sort of bride would yer lass be if she weren't really married, then?"

"I… I… you… blast." Jack said, his head throbbing. Now was _definitely _not the time to have a freakish hangover. They were led to a corner around the building in the back, the walls splattered with graffiti paint and stanching of urine, to a crudely built alter. It has flowers shoved up two masts that were leaned upon each other to make some sort of arc, a cross hung at the intersection. Jack was pushed down to his knees, and the rest of his torso landed on the ground flat with a clumsy _thunk_. The sniveling girl was bid to kneel, and then pushed down also, but in a more gentle manner. She was, after all, a lady. Although it really didn't make any difference to the lot of them. One man stood behind the two while the other reached into the shadows and pulled out a frightened looking man in a robe: a priest, was it?

"All rise. Father, please begin your services." The man leaned forward, "See? 'Ee's and actual priest. Good service, sir, good service. Proceed, Father."

The frightened priest held up a tattered Bible, and flipped to a selected page. "Ah yes… um… dearly beloved… ah… we are gathered here today… to um…"

He stuttered on, the man in the back's eyes glazing and his chin sagging, and as the priest quietly went through the whole procession, Jack though he heard snoring somewhere. Or was that him? He decided the chance was opportune to try to escape, and tried to slowly turn, but was jerked back again by the man behind him. Oh. So it was Jack who was snoring after all.

"And ah… you, sir…" the priest stopped.

"Tell 'im yer name," the man behind him said, taking a knife and jabbing Jack in the back.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," Jack nervously said.

"Jack Sparrow, do you take-"

"It's _captain, _by the way."

"Shut up," the man behind jabbed again.

"Sorry."

"Do you, Captain Jack Sparrow, take this woman to be your wife, in sickness and in health, until death do ye part?"

"Um…"

Jab.

"Um… I…"

A harder jab.

"I…"

A really painful poke.

"Ow! Aye! I do, alright?" Jack snapped.

"And do you," the priest stuttered, "Miss…"

Jab.

Jab.

Jab.

"What's yer blasted name?" the man behind her yelled. The sniffling girl shook her head and wiped her eyes.

"Your name, miss?" the priest looked up over his cracked spectacles,

Jab. Poke.

"What is your name?" Jack finally said. "Name? Namen? Neim? Nombre? Nom?"

"Fantine Pascal," she replied at the last. Ah, so she was French.

"Do you, Fantine Pascal, take this man to be your husband, in sickness and in health, until death do ye part?"

She said nothing, shaking her head confusedly.

Jab.

Another jab.

"Say yes, blast it! Just say yes!"

The man stopped jabbing to give the girl known as Fantine a swift slap on the behind with the flat of his knife. She yelped at this, and quickly replied "Oui!"

"Wonderful. Then, by the power rested in me, I know pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride, and may God have mercy on your souls." He closed his book quickly, to be pushed back into the shadows again. "I wondered if I might get a glass of water and nose plugs. It's really quite smelly back here…"

"That'll be enough out of all of you," the man with the knife said, "You two may go back to the bridge, now." And with that, he pushed the two around the corner and out of the way. Jack and his fresh bride ran into another couple, arm-in-arm, happily skipping to the alter.

"What's yer name?"

"Doris."

"Me mother's name was Doris."

"Really?"

"Aye."

Jack clutched his head. "What kind of mad house is this?" he shouted at the city, making the couple go a touch faster. The girl ran up to him and grabbed his arm. Strong grip for such tiny hands. She began to babble endlessly in some language or other. Jack struggled to understand.

"Svp, monsieur, je n'ai aucunendroit a aller. Je me cachais avec m l'ami de y au changement dans une eglise, mais nous se sent perdus et je suis seul. Svp, prenez-moi avec vous. Je promets que jene serai pas d'aucun ennui du tout, monsieur, veuillez juste ne me laissemt pas ici! J'ai peur hars dici tout seulement…"

"Oh, Lord, please stop talking so fast. I have a horrible hangover, you see, and I really must be going now to get back to my ship." Jack turned to go, and started walking. She followed him. He turned, and sighed. "This is going to be a bloody long night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack, Barbossa, and Fantine sat in the boat silently as Bootstraps rowed back to the _Black Pearl. _Barbossa stared at Jack, Jack stared at his boots, then at his wife (at least, that's what he thought she was), and Fantine sniffled and wiped her nose and her eyes and stared out at the sea and back at the island.

Jack racked his brain for any French words he might've picked up and bothered to remember in the past. "Er… parlez... parlez vous… um… Francais?"

Fantine nodded her head brightly. "Oui!"

"Alright, that's somewhere at least… ah… parlez vous… um… English?"

Fantine shook her head. "No."

"But she just did speak English-" Barbossa started.

"It's the same in both French and English, stupid," Jack snapped. "So ye don't speak English. Um…" he tried making hand motions to act out what he was trying to say. "Do… you… live… somewhere?" However, his hand actions were quite faulty, and he only wound up hitting himself in the face and confusing the girl even more. "Never mind," he sighed, "we'll straighten this out tomorrow." He sighed, and settled back, looking the girl over.

She wasn't very pretty at all, as compared to someone like Saide or some of the other girls he had met. In fact, she was a little homely. She didn't look a day over fifteen, she could possibly be younger. He hoped no younger than thirteen. Great. He had landed himself a child for a bride. Practically a baby. She didn't have any breasts on her at all, and her arms were too skinny, and her rear end wasn't full at all. Her neck was quite attractive though, but who honestly cares about necks when breasts are invisible? She had a bridge of freckles running across her nose and cheekbones, and in the dim moonlight her eyes looked to be… oh, he didn't know or care. Lord! If he were going to marry, why couldn't The Great Captain in the Sky have given him an older lass who had breasts and a rump on her at least? He must be punishing him for something. What could it be? Well, he did impersonate that member of the clergy one time. That was good fun. And then he did have good fun with that nun that one time. And he did steal from the offering plate that one time. Isn't what Fantine and her chum were doing when they were caught? Pity, she only needed practice. Drat, he remembered he was married to her. He wondered if she had even reached puberty yet. What was he going to do with her?

"What are ye going to do with her, if I may, Captain?" Bootstraps said from his rowing.

"I have no bloody idea," Jack sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"Ye could take 'er on board the _Pearl_, Captain," Bootstraps suggested, "I could even teach 'er 'ow to become a real pirate, sir."

"Oh aye, the crew will have great fun with that," Barbossa chuckled to himself.

Jack glanced at his new wife, staring at all of them as if they were a pack of criminals… which they were. So she was just staring at them. No, he didn't want the crew to do anything to the poor lass. She barely had any idea that she was a married woman; much less she would have any idea how to defend herself against a pack of hungry sailors.

"No, don't let the crew do anything to her," Jack decided.

"And why not?"

"Because… because that would be adultery," Jack grinned, "And we are an honorable lot."

At this, the three men burst out laughing at the joke which seems quite unfunny to your readers unless you are also a pirate. It was a pirate joke. So they laughed and laughed, and felt much better about the whole thing, excepting Fantine. She looked to be deep in desperate prayer. Jack couldn't blame her.


	5. Fantine Pascal

**Author's Note: **Happy New Year, readers! 2006! Year of the Oompa-Loompa! (whispers in back) IT IS BECAUSE I SAY IT IS, GOSH DARN IT! Ahem. Sorry. Thank you all for your reviews! I'm happy that you like Fantine. Honestly, I didn't know how she would come out. I got the name while looking for French girl names on (that's where I go to get character's names), and I found Fantine, whose meaning was "childlike," or "virgin", or something. I decided to keep it because it was in Les Miserables. I LOVE Les Mis! The book, the movie, the musical, the cow… scratch the last one, actually.

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It took several days of trying to communicate for Jack to get to Fantine. One of the soldiers, raised in Cajun territory, recalled the tad bit of French he picked up by the bums who raised him before he went out to sea. Jack called him to translate to Fantine, and sat and talked to her in his quarters, Barbossa taking over duty while Jack was doing so. The Cajun man's name was Javier or Joseph or something, Jack didn't really bother to ask. He had to remind himself to give the sailor a small raise after this.

Through the sailor, Fantine told Jack that she had been raised near Amiens, France by her mother, a cook for an aristocratic family. Fantine, still at a young age, sometimes ran errands at the family's house for small wages to help her mother. As fate would have it, her mother soon fell ill of tuberculosis, and had to quit her job. The aristocratic family, luckily quite benevolent, paid for her mother to go into the hospital. They, as well as their cook and her daughter, were aware that the cook wasn't going to last long. But Fantine still insisted on working small-wage jobs for various citizens around town. One night, after visiting her mother (she had been gaining health, which was very good news), Fantine was sent on an errand by a doctor in the hospital to deliver some medicine to a woman who was recovering from the flu. It was then, when Fantine was trying to find her way to the house in the dark, when she was abducted.

Fantine explained that abductions of young girls happened often in that part of Europe, being sold off or raped or possibly killed. She even knew a girl she went to church with that had supposedly escaped a close encounter with four men who tried to grab her and drag her off. Fantine was not so lucky. She should have been more careful, but unfortunately she found herself being shipped off with several other quivering girls on a small ship to the Americas. There, she met a girl who was training to be a nun, whose name was Freia. Freia was from Belgium, so she spoke a little bit of French in addition to Flemish. The two grew to be great friends on that miserable journey. You needed friends in that situation. Five girls died on the ship, three of illness and two of suicide. Fantine and Freia circumvented those fates. When the ship docked at the Bahamas, the girls were carted off the ship to be traded off to various places. Fantine and Freia managed to escape from being separated and sold, instead creeping off and joining a group of missionaries on another ship. Freia explained their situation and her skills in the church already. The missionaries agreed to disguise the girls as members of their group. There were two priests and four nuns in the group already, and they were traveling to Vierge Harbor to work on the poor sinners residing there. As the days passed on, the four nuns accepted the girls as unofficial "maunts". They called Freia Sister Virtue and Fantine Sister Patience. When the group did finally reach Vierge Harbor, they took up residence in an abandoned old church on the other side of town. Fantine worked with cleaning, cooking, and tending to the sick in the town as one of the priests, Father O'Malley, tried to reach whoever they had confronted. It was a well-organized cult, as it were, and Fantine thought for a while she might consider just staying with the group and devoting her time to God. But apparently He had other plans.

Freia and Fantine set out one day to gather supplies for the mission, and did not return till late that evening. Arms full of baskets packed with supplies from the forest by the beach, they came home to find the mission in flames. Someone had set fire to it, and ransacked the place. All the medicine and food was gone, as well as the four nuns and the two priests. Fantine had not seen them since then. The two young women did their best to put out the flames; nobody really bothered to come help. They didn't want to risk going to call for someone; for fear that they might take the two ladies off too. Fantine and Freia were alone again. They decided, after a few days, that it would probably be best if they tried to make their way back to Europe. So they gathered what supplies were left, and prepared to leave. Freia was taking the last of the money for the trip from the offering plates hidden and luckily not found by the raiders, and Fantine was waiting outside. She was going to go back in and fetch Freia, when two men grabbed her from behind, and again she found herself being carted off in chains.

And that is where Jack had found the two girls the last night, being sold. Jack didn't know what to make of the story. Apparently his wife had a habit of getting herself caught and pulled into some form of slavery or other by vicious vagabond villains. She was just in the wrong place at all the wrong times.

Fantine was introduced to the crew by Bootstraps, who, even though he could not communicate very well with her, had given himself the job of being the Captain's spouse's chaperone, as it were. Jack, who had a great many other things to do, was somewhat grateful for Bootstraps painstaking efforts. Old Bill Turner often appeared to be the only man onboard with real class. If he weren't such a scallywag, he could easily pass off as a well-to-do gentleman in aristocratic society. He was nice to ladies. Apparently, when asked, Bootstraps revealed he had a little lady at home with a baby boy. He hadn't seen the lass in years, but was planning to go back and see her and his son soon. Jack clandestinely hoped Turner would be able to make all right.

The crew didn't think much about the captain's 15-year-old wife, when told that they were to keep their distance, they went on working as if she weren't there. After all, most of their heads were heavy from activities the night before, their appetites appeased for now. This gave Jack some comfort, so he went back to his regular duties. At night, when the crew was down getting their rations from the cook, Jack sat upstairs with Barbossa, and Fantine would sometimes eat with them, or she would wander down to the "mess hall," as it was called, and tried to communicate to the cook that his chili needed paprika. The cook didn't like Fantine much. But then again, no one really liked the cook. The time over the next few days grew into weeks, and it was dreary and passive. Jack would notice Fantine was beginning to show this wasn't the right place for her. She often sat and wrote on scrawls of paper, looking bleakly out into the ocean, her fist holding her chin up. She seemed more like an obvious stowaway than his wife. Is this how all wives acted? Jack didn't think so. At least normal wives slept with their husbands sometimes. Jack surprised everyone, even himself, when he made a decision that he wouldn't take any liberties with the little girl. The night they arrived on this ship, Fantine was told to go sleep in the captain quarters, but when Jack approached she suddenly burst into those annoying little girlish sniffles and quiet sobs. Jack once met a prostitute in Singapore, fresh on the job and inexperienced, who did the same thing. The pirate captain supposed this was the way Fantine felt, so he decided it would be best if he just left her alone. Fantine slept in his bed that night, and Jack sat up at the wheel all night, drinking very strong whiskey. And that was the way it had been on the _Black Pearl-_ utterly not pirate-like at all. One night, his wife came to him when Barbossa wasn't in his quarters talking with him, with a scrawl of paper in hand.

Jack was munching on an apple, his boots up on the desk, glancing at a few maps and comparing it to some muddled treasure map or other. When he heard her approaching, he looked up.

"Wrrtcnnmmmbbbdffrryy?" he said through a mouthful of apple, (what he was trying to say was "What can I do fer ye?"

Fantine stared hard at her scrawl of paper, and started slowly, "Monsieur Sparrow… ah… I come to you on the topic of… on the topic of my residence her on the Black Pearl... In the past… few weeks… you, um… have been very… kind to me, and I hope I will be able to repay you some time. But- I feel it is… it is not my place to be here. I know you are a very busy man, and I wish to be of no… no… ah, what is word?" she pointed to a word on the paper. Jack looked at it.

"Trouble."

"Yes. I wish to be of no… trouble, but I feel it is in my best interest to try to find my loved ones again. Monsieur, I cannot do much on this ship, but I have my own life to live. And I'm sure you probably have yours to live, too. So, if it would be of no… trouble, I ask you to please help me. The end." She finished.

Jack bid her to sit down. She did, quickly, which caused her to stand up, straighten her skirts, and sat down slowly again.

"Lass… ye do know yer me wife, don't ye? Wife?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"Good. Uhm… I can't help you find whoe'er yer lookin' for. We're trying to find a certain island, y'see," he pointed to the map, "And the crew won't like it. Understand? Ne pas?"

Fantine hurriedly glanced at her scrawl. She must've written down several words of English taught from the Cajun man. "Please, monsieur? I am… what is word… begging for you to do this."

Jack stared at her, then his map, then at her, and sighed. "Look. I can't help you find yer loved ones, but I can set ye up to take care of yerself. Oui?"

Fantine paused. "Do you… no… will you explain this?"

So they struck a deal. _The Black Pearl_ raided two ships, and made its way back to the Virgin Islands under strict orders of the captain. The crew begrudgingly obeyed. Their hard-hearted captain was slipping since he hung himself in the bonds of matrimony, and they didn't like that. Neither did Barbossa. It seemed that his captain was paying more attention to the little girl and that bleeding-heart Bootstraps, intent on acting like a silly gentleman's gentleman, than what was important, like pillaging, plundering, and eating really bad eggs. It was like some soppy female novel! Fantine received many glares, and the captain more glares than usual, in those last few days.

But they did reach the Virgin Islands, thankfully alive. They docked again near Vierge Harbor, the crew had gone out again for drinks. Jack, in the middle of the night when no one was watching, helped Fantine into a little boat, accompanied by Bootstraps, and loaded it up with most of the booty stolen from the two ships.

"This is incredibly stupid," Jack grumbled, hopping into the boat. "Leaving _my_ ship alone to those scallywags, knowing full well they might run off with it. We're loony, I tell ye."

"Captain," Bootstraps said while lowering the boat down and taking the oars, "We'll be back by the next morning, I can assure you. Did you tell Barbossa?"

"Oh, blast." Jack cursed, "I meant to. Must've slipped my mind. I'm sure he won't be all that angry." He supposed.

They rowed past Vierge harbor, which took them most of the night. The three arrived in the little aristocratic town, called New Antoine, Jack with a terrible headache. He thought it might be a hangover from last night, he had been drinking that strong whiskey again. But without it, he wasn't in his right mind. The good people guarding the gates of New Antoine didn't take nicely to the three people approaching. One was a girl, the other a dirty young man with long dread locks encumbered with beads and who-knows what else, and the other a man older than the other, who looked dead tired and unshaven.

"Are you from Vierge Harbor?" one guard asked.

"Not exactly." Jack replied. "We need to get in."

"No one from Vierge Harbor is allowed to get in to New Antoine, only merchants and invited guests."

Jack fumbled through a sack, producing three shillings, holding them out. He was about to bribe the two, when the other said, "No bribes, sir. I suggest you step away from the gates sir."

"We-"

"Step away, sir!"

"Monsieurs!" Fantine stepped forth and began speakingin rapid French, "Ne nous laisserez-vous pas dedans ? Nous sommes fatigués, et nous voulons juste nous reposer dans vos portes. Comment cruel est cette terre dans laquelle vous pensez est si riche et merveilleuse si vous non laissé l'autre plus pauvre, citoyens moins chanceux dans vos portes ? C'est indigne! Comment ne nous connaissez-vous pas êtes-vous les personnes riches et puissantes de France si vous nous jugez tellement rapidement ? Vous pourriez faire la plus grande erreur de vos vies, vous... vousidiots!" She wrang her hand drastically at this. The guards stepped back at the ranting little girl.

The guard stared at her. 'What did she say?" he mumbled to the other guard.

"I don't know, I'm just supposed to see their papers."

"Isn't there someone who can translate?"

"That would be Jim."

"Where's Jim, then?"

"On vacation."

"What? Why is he on vacation?"

"He got in a quarrel with a Spanish trader last Tuesday."  
"Oh. Poor man."

"Excuse me!" Bootstraps said, "The good Lady…" he looked at Fantine, who nodded, "The good Lady Charlemagne of France does not wish to be ignored!"

"Don't pull that on me, she isn't a Lady, look at her clothes!"

"Dites-lui que notre bateau a été attaqué par des pirates, et est ce ce que nous avons récupéré du port de Vierge."

"Our ship was attacked by pirates, and this is what we recovered from Vierge Harbor."

"Then you're her translator?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Bootstraps stared at Fantine, who said, "Continuer!" and replied, "Because the Lady Charlemagne did not wish for me to reveal our noble titles to such commoners such as yersel… _your_selves." With that, he turned up his nose. Fantine did the same. Jack followed the trend, quite amused. He wondered if Bootstraps had any idea what Fantine was actually saying, and vice versa, because Jack certainly didn't.

Fantine spoke again. "Dites ces imbéciles de nous excuser et laissez est dedans immédiatement."

"She says… she says we need to get in."

"Avancez!"

"Right now."

One guard stared at Fantine. "Well, _she_ might be some Lady Bloomers-Caught-in-a-Knot, but how do _we_ know _you_ are not vagabonds instead of chaperones?"

Bootstraps looked at Fantine, who stepped forward. "Ils ont été faits à lumière dans les oisifs," she whispered, glancing behind her.

"What did she say?"

Fantine pointed at Jack and Bootstraps, and then made a quick up-handed circular motion to indicate something. The guards eyes widened. "Châtrer! Ah, what is word… ah…eunuchs?" she whispered. The guard glanced past her at the two men. Bootstraps straightened up, and Jack giggled and waved girlishly at the guards. The two guards glanced hurriedly at one another, and opened the gates.

"Enjoy your stay at New Antoine, miss… ah, Lady Charlemagne."

"Merci," Fantine said as she strode past, Bootstraps behind her, and Jack flouncing past one guard and winking at him, doing a bloody good job at walking in a girly way. The guards shuddered simultaneously.

XXXXXXXXXX

They set Fantine up at a nice little provincial inn on the far side of town. The older woman there said she could stay there for free if she helped around the inn and minded the customers. Bootstraps still thought it would be a good idea if Fantine received a good percent of the plunder from Jack anyway so she could start a good life for herself anyway, and Jack agreed to this. He was beginning to sober up, which he never liked, and Bootstraps had been helpful this far. He had to remember to give the lad a raise soon for all of this. So they helped Fantine settle in to her new home.

"Where… where did you learn the word eunuch? Eunuch?" Jack asked his wife as she was sweeping away some dust on the ground.

She smiled up at him, and said slowly. "I… ah… I learn it… from men? Oui? Crew?"

Jack laughed. "I'm not surprised."

The three had lunch, which was bought from the old woman, called Mrs. Stew of all things. It was filling, and when they polished off the last bits of salted pork and ale, prepared to say their goodbyes. Bootstraps kissed Fantine's hand and told her to take care of herself, and not get into any more trouble. "It is not becoming of a French lady such as yerself," he smiled at her.

Jack told Fantine that he would send a letter with the booty that she received telling her of how he was. Now that he was leaving her, Jack had to admit he had grown sort of fond of his little child bride. It didn't seem at all proper for a man to just go off and leave his wife as if she never existed. But then again, what was proper to a pirate? So he shook the girl's hand and told her to try not to get herself sold off into slavery again, because he couldn't keep chasing after her. He doubted she understood completely.

Nevertheless, Fantine gave Jack a peck on his rough, dirty cheek, and said, "You… you are… um, une personne très compatissante et honorable, Captain. Merci, and au revoir."

And with that, Captain Jack Sparrow and Bootstraps Bill Turner left New Antoine, each hoping Fantine would be all right, Jack secretly wondering if he would ever see his wife again.

As fate would have it, he most certainly would.


	6. Robert William Sparrow

**Disclaimer: **Now look. You and I both know that if I did in fact own anything from Pirates of the Caribbean, I would be very rich and off drinking expensive pina coladas with Jerry Bruckheimer, Orlando Bloom, and Johnny Depp; not at all attempting to write a little fanfiction, would I? The thought is preposterous. I do, however, own Marysue Smith and all of her ditzy blonde glory. And I own Fantine Pascal and all of her… um… French glory. And I own a new character in here but I'm not going to tell you who he is in hopes that you will read and find out yourself. So there.

**Author's Note: **Ahoy, gents! I'm back from the dead! Sort of. Not really. But I managed to finish this chapter! Thank you for the reviews. Really, they keep me going. I must beg you though, even if you just glance at a sentence or two, please tell me what you think. I really appreciate them. NEW CHARACTER! HOORAY!

* * *

The second visit happened about a year later. Jack hadn't thought about Fantine since he left her at New Antoine, and probably wouldn't have if he had not run into one of his old girlfriends while pillaging a little village in the Bahamas. He was stopping by a few houses to steal a few things and/or give the people inside a good scare. Normally the ruddy crew of the _Black Pearl_ did their best work on the seas, but sometimes they pillaged towns when they were a bit low on plunder. They had hit this village once before, but the first time they had used it as a "rest stop", like Tortuga or Vierge Harbor. This time, however, the little village had to pay its dues. So Jack making his way up to the governor's house, when he passed by a dirty little shack and heard a familiar voice. 

"Jack?"

He slowly turned. Staring open-mouthed out a window was the recognizable face he knew none-too-well as… drat, what was her name? Betsy? Bernice? Bernice. That was it. Bernice… oh, he couldn't remember her last name. The last time he saw her she was very beautiful, with long raven hair that fell down in wisps and almond-shaped lilac eyes and dimpled cheeks. Now it seemed as if she had been engaging in a heavy battle with a room full of muddy pigs.

"Ber… Bernice?" he slurred.

"It's Beatrice."

Oh. So _that's_ what it was. Beatrice disappeared from the window, and came out with a small baby. Her black strands of hair streaming in the night breeze like banners of a military brigade marching to war, her lilac eyes hard like geodes under a furrowed brow, she quickly walked up to him and gave a swift slap in the face. Jack stumbled back in moderate surprise. "Ow! I didn't deserve that."

"Oh yes you did, Mr. Jack Sparrow! You left me on my own after that amazing night, and never spoke to me again! How could you? Luckily I found my_ true_ love, George Hamilton. He loves me for what I am, and I him- even if he _is_ a pig farmer."

Well, his guess was right about her new lifestyle anyway.

"So he married me, even though I was already with child. But when I'm out there with those pigs, there's not a single day that goes by when I'm not reminded of you, you swine! I cannot take having you in my head, Jack, and this will only remind me more!" she handed the baby over to him. Jack stared in terrified surprise, unsure of what to do as usual.

"George and I have love, but not money," Beatrice went on, sniffling. "Not even enough money to support ourselves, much less him. Take him, Jack, he's your son. I just pray he'll turn out nothing like his father!" she turned to leave, but paused. "And don't you ever even _think_ about coming within fifty inches of me ever again!" Beatrice shouted tearfully, storming in a mass of tears back into her house. Jack looked at the shack, then the baby, who had been peacefully sleeping through the whole thing. What should he do? He knew absolutely nothing about babies; it was obvious to, well, everyone. But if he tried to return the thing, that psycho might jump out at him and try to devour him alive with a fork and knife. And what if he went back to the ship? The crew was just beginning to warm up to him after that incident with Fantine. Then he brightened. Fantine! She was a woman… or close enough to one. She might know what to do with this. So Jack, having completely forgotten about the governor's house or why he came to the village in the first place, turned promptly around and wandered back to the ship.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Handling babies had been an even harder task that Jack had ever conceived no pun intended. Indeed, it was no laughing matter. He was now beginning to understand why Beatrice had acted so insane. She was being driven insane by her little kid. The thing cried _so bloody much_ Jack gave orders for someone to change the little brute, which nobody ever wanted to do, despite all their self-proclaimed bravery and manliness and whatnot. So every person was put down on a list, and when the baby so malodorous that it made the cook's refried beans smell like potpourri, a sailor would be checked off the list to attempt the dangerous feat of changing the little monster. If they refused, then they had to walk the plank (Barbossa put that in). The crew even sort of made a game out of it, to see who held the record of fastest changing without losing his rations. So far, a sailor called Hobbes did: he developed a way of setting up his work station quickly so that when he undid the clasps holding the diaper up (a rag pinned up crudely so that it barely stayed on), and unrolling the baby boy so that Hobbes promptly caught him and set him down on a clean rag, scooted the baby across it to clean his dirty rear, and set him on a new rag and clasped the pins. It took under 9 seconds. Hobbes was quite proud of himself. Jack observed Hobbes' technique was similar to how Jack had once seen a tasty dish called pizza being made when he visited Italy once. But Hobbes wasn't Italian. He was English. That's interesting.

Some of the men were afraid that if they tossed the dirty diapers into the ocean, it would offend the angry spirit of Davey Jones and consequently curse the ship and her crew, so they burned the pungent things. Yet the baby still cried! So the coo tried to give the thin a carrot, but soon found out it didn't have any teeth to chew it on. So the cook minced the carrot, but found it didn't want to eat it. The cook gave up angrily after this, and Bootstraps stepped in. He played this foolish and all together quite un-piratey game with the kid, where he started cooing stupid things like, "Here comes the ship! Oh, no! It's going to sink if it doesn't go into the grotto! Open up!" and then the baby would gleefully open his mouth and eat the mush. Of course, the trick was trying to get the baby to close his mouth and swallow his food. He would keep opening his mouth to shriek and cackle with joy, and all of the spitty mess would spill out. Once the task was finally finished, the baby would do his business in his diaper, and the whole process would start all over again. When the thing wasn't eating, crying, or peeing, it was sleeping. This was the time of day all the pirates looked forward to the most. Peacefully laying on its stomach (someone said that's the way they're supposed to sleep) amongst a pile of dirty laundry, the baby would be watched by one person, just to make sure it didn't choke or vomit or burst into flames or anything. Then they could go about their somewhat usual pirating business.

Of course, the baby was pretty playful when it wasn't demonic. Bootstraps caught the kid sucking on Barbossa's golden watch (he stole if off the prince of Belgium, he claimed). The crew thought it was pretty funny.

"Ee's jus' like 'is dad, a li'l thief." Hobbes called from one of the masts.

"Maybe we should call 'im Li'l Robber."

That's when Bootstraps came up with the wondrous idea that the kid should be named Robert.

The crew's affections increased for the baby with the christening of Robert. (They all wanted to make his naming official.) So Barbossa got the honor of sprinkling seawater and rum (the "holy water" of pirates, it was decided,) and proclaimed him Robert William Sparrow. Barbossa thought this was silly and did it begrudgingly under captain's orders; (but clandestinely everyone knew Barbossa was flattered.) The middle name William was given to Robert because Jack thought that since it was Bootstraps who came up with the name, it would be his first name to be the middle.

It was very fortunate that this all happened at sea without any interruptions from any other ships, for if anyone passing by the ship would've bothered to glance at a fearsome crew fawning and playing with a drooling infant, the _Black Pearl's_ marvelous reputation would have been diminished rather quickly. Who really fears a bunch of men claiming to be fearsome vagabonds but in private prefer to play and cuddle with children? I sure wouldn't be afraid, and I don't think you would either, readers, except if you are one who prefers to in private be afraid of everything. But the crew knew they couldn't take their jobs seriously if Robert stayed aboard, even though some of them did want very much for their captain's son to stick around and be the "ship pet". Nevertheless, the mysterious midnight-colored sails of the _Black Pearl_ found their way back to the quaint little town of New Antoine, and with heavy hearts the crew said their goodbyes to the little baby of whom they had grown so fond of. Some told Robert to stay away from alcohol and mysterious women, others told him to keep his friends close and his enemies closer. Hobbes told Robert that despite what everyone says, it was perfectly fine to not change your under-clothes often, and that sometimes being smelly comes in handy when scaring off people who want to cut your throat. Robert looked upon the whole ceremony with confused interest. Captain Jack asked Bootstraps to come with him to the town, since he knew Fantine pretty well. Barbossa went into another sulk because of this; after all, _he _was the first mate. But Jack chose to ignore it. When packing a few things for the night, like food for the baby, Jack discovered a few books one of the man had made off with while ransacking the library of a well-to-do person's house. One of the books, hid under a big copy of _The Iliad_, Jack found a few foreign dictionaries. Among converting Portuguese to Russian and Chinese to German, Jack picked up a French to English version. They rowed their way in the middle of the night to the quite town sitting peacefully before them, just as they had a year before, except Fantine wasn't here and Jack was holding of baby of all things in his arms. They crept over the wall surrounding the town when the guards weren't looking, and tried to navigate to the inn where they thought Fantine would be. Well, that took most of night; it was dawn before they finally found the right one. They had to intrude on five different ones, in one interrupting the innkeeper who was busy expressing his warm interests to a giggling young barmaid sitting on his knee. The barmaid skittered away into the shadows, while the innkeeper hurriedly whispered directions to another inn, so as not to disturb his fat wife sleeping upstairs, and pushed the two young men out.

But finally they did find the inn, for they recognized the woman who ran the inn. She had more wrinkles, and a bad cough, but she remembered them vaguely as well.

"Please, can you tell us where our friend is? We want to see her again. Fantine was her name?"

The woman coughed a bit into her handkerchief, before finally speaking. "Oh, yes. You two. I remember- well, if you want to see her, she's in the kitchen. She's a good worker, nice girl. Not very smart, though- she doesn't hardly speak a lick of English. Kitchen's on your left."

Captain Jack and Bootstraps walked to the kitchen to find Fantine standing over a sink, scrubbing soapy dishes.

"Fantine?" Jack asked, stepping forth. She turned, looking up. When she saw the two, her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open, making her look rather comical- like some clown in a circus. Jack couldn't suppress a grin as Fantine dropped the plate she was holding in surprise.

"Jack?" she stuttered, "Bootstraps?" then broke into a grin, running to embrace them and kiss their cheeks, the broken plate transitorily forgotten. "Oh, I am glad to see you!" she cried happily.

"What was that crash? Fantine!" the innkeeper gruffly shouted in the front. Fantine went to go clean up the broken shards of plate.

"It's good too see you too, Fantine," Jack said, looking at his boots. His eyes, against his will, slowly drew towards his nearly 16-year-old wife's rear. Blast. She hadn't changed much, he noticed as he looked her over. Still as homely as ever: her hind quarters still weren't full, and as she stood Jack noticed she hadn't developed much of breasts, except for two what looked like big mosquito bites protruding from her blouse. Her neck was still seemly, though. "How have you been?"

"Ah… I have been well..." she said. "I have been making better my English."

"You're coming along perfectly," Bootstraps smiled. Fantine threw the shards away, taking off her apron and putting on a fresh one. She bid them to follow her to the front.

"Madame Stew," Fantine asked, "May I… um… may I stop work for now?" she said, finding the words. Mrs. Stew shrugged. They went to another room, filled with chairs and tables. In the corner a few lounge chairs had been set up around a small coffee table facing a fireplace. Fantine sat them down, while she went to go get some firewood. "Would you like anything to drink?" she said.

"I'll have a pint of ale, if ye would," Bootstraps said.

"A mug of rum is fine with me," Jack said, contented. Fantine nodded, and left to get them. Jack sat forward in his chair to talk to Bootstraps.

"She seems to be getting along fine," Bootstraps said.

"Aye. But is bringing Robert here a good decision?"

"I think so, captain."

Fantine presently returned with a load of firewood under one arm, and a tray with three glasses balancing on the other hand. Fantine set the drinks down, and tended the fireplace. Soon a fire roared before them, warming all of their feet and setting their hearts at ease.

"So… ah… what do I… owe this good visit?" Fantine smiled at the two of them.

"Actually, Fantine," Jack said, preferring to get right down to business, "We have something to ask of you."

Fantine looked up from whatever she had in her mug. "Mm?"

"We… we have a baby." Jack blurted out.

Fantine stared at them for a while, not saying anything. Finally, she pointed both at Bootstraps and then at Jack. "You… you two… have a baby?"

It took a moment for it to sink in. "Oh! No!" Both men quickly assured her that she was wrong in her thinking, speaking in deep, manly tones of voice; subliminally flexing their pectorals and making it clear of their impressive amounts of stored testosterone.

"No, Fantine. We just found the little thing one day in one of the passenger ships we raided." Jack lied; he didn't know if Fantine would do him the favor and take a baby if she knew her husband had been cheating on her. "And we cannot take care of him, for we are men and it is a woman's job," Jack seemed to reassure himself, "We were wondering if you would take him."

Fantine pursed her lips, looking from the two hopeful men with pleading eyes to Mrs. Stew examining the glasses beyond. She sighed. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The baby!"

"Oh! Oh yes. Bootstraps, go get the baby."

Bootstraps stood up, hurrying over to a table where a heap of blankets lay in another corner of a room. He picked it up, and crept over to the fireplace. "Shh, 'Ee's sleeping," Bootstraps smiled. Fantine stretched out her arms towards him, and he handed the baby over.

"'Is name is Robert. Robert William Sparrow," Jack whispered. "So, 'ow's about it then? Will ye keep 'im?"

Fantine sighed again, looking the baby over. She was touched by him; there was no doubt about it. The little bugger seemed to have a charming effect on even the roughest of crowds. He probably got it from his father, Jack smiled proudly. Fantine looked at her husband. "Alright. I will take care of him."

Jack and Bootstraps both breathed a heavy sigh of relief and thankfulness, both patting her on the back and whatnot. Fantine went upstairs to her room to find something for the baby to sleep in, grabbing a few wet cloths and a dry rag, the other two following her.

Fantine's room was small and clean, with little furniture, a small bed, and a window over looking the town and sea beyond. There was a little desk propped up against one wall, with a clay vase and a few flowers sitting on it. Fantine removed the vase, put the dry rag down, and set Robert down on it, who had begun to wake and start to whimper. His whimpers quickly evolved into wails as Fantine set him down. She picked him back up again, shushing and clucking to it, jiggling him in her arms as she paced around the room. When he quieted, she set him down again and checked the diaper, which was becoming quite putrid again. Fantine took several steps back at the sight and smell, covering her nose with her hands and cautiously stepping forth again. Jack and Bootstraps watched meekly from behind. Fantine checked the diaper again.

"Will you get a clean cloth, please?" Fantine said over her shoulder. Bootstraps practically dashed out the door at this. Jack took this moment to step forth and glance on at what she was doing. Fantine, with painstaking effort to touch the thing as least as possible, removed the diaper and set it aside. She took the wet cloths, and began wiping away all the mess, which made even Jack's hard stomach turn. He couldn't help but gag behind her back. Fantine, trying to keep down the gags herself, shook her head and tsk-tsked at the sight before her.

"I don't know why 'e keeps on crying; we fed 'im and put 'im to bed an hour ago."

"This child has a… um… it is called a… rash? Yes, a rash. It is from not being properly changed." She cast a glance at Jack. Jack stared at his boots for a while, before stepping forth again.

"I… I really appreciate what yer doin', lass," Jack said quietly. "Yer a good girl for takin' 'im. 'Ee's a good lad, really."

Fantine nodded. She seemed to still be struggling with speaking proper English, but she understood the basic sentences fairly well. Jack fished out the little dictionary he was keeping tucked under his belt next to his sword. "Er… I… I found this, and I figured it'd be put to good use if ye kept it," he held it out.

Fantine turned to look at the thing. "Oh, my…" she smiled, "It is a… a dictionary!"

"French to English. I thought it might help ye with yer English."

"Oh, merci, thank you! This is wonderful. But I," she paused, growing a little red, "I cannot read very well."

Jack smiled, sympathy in his tones. Captains of all people knew about delaing with illiteracy. In fact, most of the men of the_ Pearl_ signed the crew list with Xs. In that day and age, it was believed, as long as you had a steady working hand and you could keep yourself alive, what good was literacy? "S'alright. Ye work on yer reading and next time we visit ye'll be able to read the thing front to back with no trouble t'all."

Fantine smiled, reassured. "I don't want to touch it; my hands are all dirty-"

"I'll put it over on yer bed."

Fantine smiled at him. "Thank you, Jack."

Bootstraps returned with a dry cloth, and Fantine went to go get a few more things. Jack and Bootstraps tried to ease the wailing baby. "I am going to miss the little kid, though," Jack sighed.

"Aye, I as well, Captain," Bootstraps smiled.

Fantine soon returned with a rocking chair in one arm, and some sort of powder and a few pins in the other. Bootstraps went to help arrange the chair near the bed, and Fantine finished changing Robert, who's crying had begun to subside. Jack wondered how Fantine seemed to be able to just grab things needed for changing an infant out of somewhere as random as a provincial inn, but he supposed it was a female thing. How bizarre, the world of females! He had only just touched the surface of their complicated depth. Jack never quite understood why women got so crazy and strange about things; why they couldn't just act like men and make it all so wonderfully simple and clear. It must be terribly cumbersome to be burdened with all of that mystery and complexity, Jack surmised; he surely wouldn't be able to take it. For a brief moment, Jack pitied not only Fantine, but the entire population of the opposite sex which loved and hated him oh-so-well. The affections were mutual, he supposed. Fantine finished changing Robert, who had stopped crying by now.

By then it was noon, and Jack and Bootstraps wet down to go pay for some lunch. Mrs. Stew seemed perplexed at the fact that her worker was slacking off to take care of some baby, but business was rather slow and there wasn't much to do, so she didn't complain too much. Jack and Bootstraps found what they thought was a stew, and helped themselves to it, taking up some for Fantine upstairs as well as Robert.

Fantine spoke slowly, and when she couldn't find the right words Jack flipped through the dictionary to help her. They spoke of what the pirates had been doing in the past year- of pillaging, and plundering, and eating really bad eggs- talking of the Spanish vessel they had come upon, and of the silly duke that was hiding in the captain's quarters from them when they found him. They told her of how he had squealed like a little girl when they turned him upside down and shook out all the golden bejeweled jewelry that was lavishly displayed on him, leaving him nothing but his underclothes. They talked of when they journeyed to the Indian coast to bully some trading vessels and of the beasts that were kept on the ship coming from one of the ports. One of them, a tiger, was deep orange with jagged ebony striped, and eyes like two golden moons. There was even an ostrich, which the cook very badly wanted to slaughter and roast, which pecked and fought anyone who dared come near it. However, even thought he cook didn't get to kill the thing, he did make out with a few giant eggs, which he cooked for the captain and the crew. Fantine laughed and laughed at their stories, sometimes leaning forward in wonder at the description of the wild beasts, sometimes crinkling her nose at the thought of the rotten eggs on the ship. They talked and laughed through most of the day, until the sun began to set and Fantine went too go cook supper for the few guests that were staying there.

Jack and Bootstraps cared for Robert, bouncing him on their knees and slinging him upwards in their arms, making him laugh and squeal. Fantine returned again, this time to call them to supper and a basket. She served them cooked bird and mashed potatoes, sitting Robert on Jack's lap and spooning mashed potato into his mouth. Robert, even though he was in new company, still refused to shut his mouth and swallow it, keeping it open and letting it dribble all over his chin, laughing at how the funny girl tried to keep it all in and make funny faces while she tried to make him close his mouth.

The guests at the inn, at first intrigued with their own meal, paused to cast glances at the four strange people: the young girl who, when not busy keeping up with everyone else's orders, tried to feed the little baby; the two dirty men, whom made everyone wonder how exactly they got in here without being cast off; and the charming baby, who giggled and squealed gaily at the game. The few guests at the inn stopped eating and smiled at one another across the tables, some chuckling, some shaking their heads at the memory of their own past experiences. Time always seems to buzz past us all, and we are all running in a conceited race to keep up, except for in these times, when everyone paused to look back together at where they'd been; and Time slows its consistent buzzing for just a moment to look on in wonder.

The three went up again after finally having finished feeding Robert, feeling warm and full. Fantine lit up the few candles in her small room, and wrapped Robert up in a blanket. Robert's small brown eyes had begun to droop, he twisted about as he began to wail angrily.

"Someone's tired," Bootstraps remarked monotonously, sitting down on the back and glancing at the dictionary.

Fantine shushed and rocked the little baby, sitting down in the rocking chair and slowly rocking back and forth. The chair creaked as she leaned back against it, providing a lulling rhythm as she softly began to sing:

_"Le bonbon à bébé, _

_dorment doucement la vie est long et aime _

_est temps profond sera doux pour le thee _

_tout le monde à voir que l'heur de regarder _

_autour et savoir _

_savent que les ombres viennent disparaître _

_comment la brise remue les arbres comment _

_les fleurs se développent…" _

Jack leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes against the lullaby. Fantine's voice was good, it was small and whispery, and he had heard better voices in his time. He supposed it was what she was singing that made it so powerful, made him want to close his eyes. He couldn't understand it, but in his heart he knew he was listening to far-off places, and the blessings of coming home. Robert's eyes began to droop, and he curled up against her, his small chubby hand clutching at the neckline of her dress. Fantine rested her head against the back of the rocking chair, its rhythm still creaking on, and closed her eyes. The dim candlelight cast warm purple shadows across her face, resting on her hair and cheeks, caressing them with yellow light. It wasn't just Fantine now, it was the room in general- a big blur of deep purple shadows and yellow shapes, Robert's little head tucked into the purple shadows of Fantine's would-be bosom, dreaming warm dreams by candlelight. Fantine and he seemed to melt into the room, become a beautiful blur of candlelight- like a painting. Yes. It was like a painting. Maybe a painting that Jack had stolen from some Italian painter one time back when he was a boy working as a sailor on that merchant ship. Yes… that was before it sunk, though. All that fire, and he couldn't find the painting. Such a pretty painting, all gone up in smoke…

"Jack," Fantine's little voice came from the dreamy, lulling shadows. Jack stirred, and stood up.

"Lass?"

"You… you didn't just… find Robert. He's your son, isn't he." She didn't open her eyes.

Jack paused. "Yes."

"And the mother…"

Jack stared at his boots. "She was poor. She couldn't take care of him."

Fantine nodded. "Are you going tomorrow?" she whispered.

Jack looked out the window. "I suppose so. It will be early."

Fantine opened her eyes. "I'll see you off then."

Jack nodded, and turned to wake Bootstraps, who mumbled something about mangos and ostrich eggs. "We'll get a room next door."

"Alright. Good night."

"Good night," Jack whispered from the door, his back turned.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Jack took a final look at the place, shook his head, and quickly left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack awoke groggy, feeling rather strange. He wasn't in his bed on the _Pearl_, rolling off of it from the tilting of the ship; and he wasn't hung-over, which felt quite odd indeed. He didn't know if it was a good odd or bad odd. All he knew was he needed coffee before he went. He and Bootstraps prepared for the journey to the ship, each secretly praying that the ship would still be there. Barbossa had been in a foul mood when they left. However, it was in _the Code_ that Barbossa could not make off with another man's ship, but most pirates considered _the Code_ to be more of… well, "guidelines." So they tried to depart as early and quickly as they could. Fantine woke to help them pack food for the trip, and Robert woke from the noise, groggy and sniffling. It was still dark outside, the guests still peacefully asleep. Jack, Bootstraps, and Fantine balancing Robert on her hip said quiet goodbyes to each other. Bootstraps tickled Robert and kissed his forehead, which made Robert giggle and feel a bit better.

"Take care of yer new mum, lad," Bootstraps grinned, "She's a good lass."

Jack said an uncomfortable goodbye to his wife, still feeling queer after the short conversation the night before. What was this feeling that caused his stomach to twist in uncomfortable knots? Could it be… guilt?

"Er… I hope ye like yer dictionary."

"I do, Jack."

"Maybe… maybe I'll come and try to visit."

"That would be nice."

"Yeah… I'd like to see 'ow Robert comes along."

"I… will try to… raise him right."

"Good." Jack twisted the toes of his boots, nearly stumbling, which made Fantine break into a smile. Jack turned an embarrassed shade of pink, smiling as well. "Take care of yerself, Fantine."

"You too. Don't die from any bad eggs, Captain." Fantine chuckled.

"I'll try not to." Robert was handed to his father, and he held him for a moment. "Yer a good gentleman, Robert William Sparrow. Nothin' like yer old man t'all."

Robert hiccupped in admiration, reaching his chubby hands towards his father's long beaded strands of hair and yanking it playfully.

Bootstraps gave Fantine a hug, telling her he expected her to be fluent in English when they came back. Fantine promised she would.

The goodbyes over with, the two pirates looked back at the inn, then at each other, waving and heading off down the road. Fantine waved after them, taking little Robert's hand and waving it as well. When the two men had disappeared, Fantine carried her new foster son into the house, and readied herself for the new day.

* * *

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	7. A Rose by Any Other Name

**Author's Note**: Ahoy, readers! Wow... took a long time to update, didn't I? No matter... this one is pretty long; I hope you like it. I ask you again to PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review, anything helps. It gives me something to work with in future chapters. Thank you again. Oh yeah, two new characters in here. Enjoy!

* * *

9 months passed very slowly for the young pirate captain. No one really was in need of any severe pillaging for more than half a year, and it bewildered Jack. What was becoming of this world, where ships didn't feel like they really needed to be pirated at all times of the year? He was almost 32 years old in a few months, yet he felt he was approaching what one phrased a "mid-life crisis" from such longing to do wild, adventurous things. Very few ships passed through the Caribbean in that time, probably because the season didn't allow much to trade. And, people generally didn't like to venture out on to the seas for travel, again, due to the season. Jack had periods of restlessness and listlessness as he scoured the horizon for the black splotch of some innocent ship hoping to pass by unnoticed by the bored crew. Apparently a few other pirate ships felt the same. They found one, called the _Siren_, who seemed friendly enough that they anchored to trade and talk and crag of recent victories. The _Siren_ went her way the next morning, and the _Black Pearl_ soldiered on another. Another pirate ship glided up a few weeks later, this one not as friendly. The crew of the _Selkie_ was an aggravated and hot-headed bunch, bored out of their wits and longing for a fight. They fired on the Pearl's starboard side as soon as they got close enough. The Pearl joyfully obliged to responding by this call for battle. They didn't need Jack's orders of all hands on deck to scurry to their places and fire their dust-gathering ammunition. They fired first on the starboard side of the _Selkie,_ then after a few blows they just fried at will. The _Black Pearl_ was swiftly approaching- she a marvelous reputation for that. Only an extremely bored and/or idiotic pirate dared to pick a fight with the _Black Pearl_ from a distance in hopes of escaping from getting punished for it. But these people wanted a fight, so the _Pearl_ spread her black wings and flew rapidly towards them. Jack could now see the faces of the pirates on the other ship, looking as mean and red-faced as ever. They yargh-ed and arrr-ed for a moment, brandishing their weapons and showing off their fearsome faces while the hands prepared the ropes and planks to board the other ships, dodging cannons and shots. Then, a group of pirates swung over from the _Selkie,_ and commenced in fighting with the crew of the _Pearl_. Enlivened and aroused from their joy of the acquittal of their boredom, the crew was no longer sluggish, but fought with vigor. Jack included. He shot and stabbed what seemed like twenty ugly men, arrrr-ing and yargh-ing zealously himself. Oh, the life of a pirate! How he relished it.

One man ran towards him, failing his sword madly; Jack ducked and caught him with his sword under the man's raised arm. Another came from behind him, and Jack swung round and fired his pistol at him before the other man could slice him in half. Two men, swinging over to the _Pearl_ at the same time, drawing their knives simultaneously and shouting their war-cries- perhaps they were brothers- landed in front of Jack, brandishing their blades. Jack pulled the sword from a man's hand lying on the ground, and brandished his two blades as well. Metal clashed against metal, the vibrations of the jagged edges of the two blades against each other ran up and down Jack's spine and made him hyper. It was two against one, and any other pirate might call for help, but not Jack Sparrow. He expertly danced across the ship, jumping over wounded bodies and shipping his sword through the air till it ran into the other men's swords, thinking out his tactics for his next hit as a professional fencer would. That was the thing that Jack took pride in. His skills in sword-fighting were rather professional as well as spectacularly swashbuckling. Robin Hood couldn't have done better. Or won a bigger number of breathless ladies watching quicker. The two brothers lashed out, their blades almost parallel, planning on wiping out any means of Jack moving out of the way as they sliced off his head together. Jack ducked quickly, his blade whipping out and running a deep path across both of the men's stomachs. They doubled over, groaning at the same time. Jack turned, to find a man with a cigarette squashed between two yellow rows of teeth, his right eye squinted shut with a pistol in his hand. Jack chuckled, whipping out his pistol and firing at the man before he could react. Kicking another pistol lying abandoned on the ground with his boot, he caught it in his free hand and fired randomly at random people running and/or walking calmly around whistling. If Jack were set about 100 years in the future in the western region of America, on could've compared to him as a cowboy in the middle of a shootout at that moment, hooting and laughing roughly. He would've shot many more men having just as much fun had someone not knocked him on the back of his head, causing him to fall on his face and black out.

He was awoken a little later by Bootstraps, shaking him awake and dousing him with a bit of sea water.

"Whhrrathappehggbyy?" Jack sat up, rubbing his head as he came to

"Cap'n," Bootstraps said, smiling, "Cap'n, we won! We seized the ship!"

"Oh," Jack said, blinking his eyes several times for his vision to focus, "Well… that's good. I mean, I wouldn't expect less! Yes! Because we're the best pirate crew on this ruddy ocean! Yes… um… so… oh yes, where's the crew?"

"The bow, captain. We've got 'em all tied up."

"Very good. Um… yes. So… I'm going up to look, now."

"Aye-aye, cap'n."

Jack strode up to the crowd of his jeering crew at the crew all sitting, tied up near the mast. "Settle down, gents!" Jack barked. The crew's cries died down eventually. They were still too hyper to be completely obedient now.

"Where's the captain of the _Selkie?"_ Jack called, looking around. That man looked like him. He was a big man: dark hair, a huge neck, and an angry purple face.

"Right here, Captain." The captain was pushed forward. Jack leaned forward. This one wasn't as big as the other one; in fact he wasn't big at all. He had a giant array of curly red hair, and as Jack looked down towards the knees, he breathed in sharply in surprise. Those weren't man-thighs! The captain lifted her face, and Jack's suspicion was confirmed. He stepped back with a conceited smirk.

"'Ello again, Jack." She gave him a sneering smile.

"Nice seein' ye again too, Rose." Jack smirked back.

She looked about the same as when Jack last saw here, not a few months ago, in fact. Maybe a year or so. Right before that freakish Bernice accident. (Or was it Beatrice? Betty?) Rose had wild hair, as red as a scorching fire. And she had a temper to match it. She was constantly setting off on something, getting touchy then lunging at her new opponent with some random weapon. She had pretty Irish eyes like sparkling emeralds, and a smile as untamed as the grassy rolling hills she came from. Her voice was unimaginably Irish and brassy, especially when she was yelling at him. She was also admirably well-built with hips like enormous giant waves and breasts like two mountains of Ireland in juxtaposition, not to mention lean long legs wrapped up in leather boots much like his. She was well-known for her skills with a sword, but she had a pretty nice shot as well. When that didn't work out, Rose simply kicked her opponent right in the groin, Jack knew this from unfortunate experience. They had quite a few adventures together; Jack and she were enemies at first. She was a stowaway on the ship he worked on as a boy, but he didn't like to talk about that. Then, in his first few years as a pirate, they met again on the same ship, fighting alongside as temporary friends. When Jack became a captain, he found Rose clinging to a drifting piece of wood, the ship she was on had sunk. He rescued her, ad brought her aboard. She worked under him for a bit, begrudgingly at first, but eventually developed feelings for him, as all women do when they've been around Jack for too long. He wooed her, and they commenced in a passionate love affair. But, alas, they were both wild creatures of the sea, and not meant for settling down. Jack loved his mistress the ocean more then Rose, although the difference between his loves was pretty narrow in comparison with his love for her. So one day, after a fight about his true love for her, Jack found Rose with another sailor on his ship, a Pole named Schmitz. He was a generally sweet man, hard worker, but not too smart- and especially not as clever as Rose. Jack found her sitting on Schmitz's lap- facing him- unbuttoning his shirt as she planted passionate kisses on his neck. The infuriated Jack dragged her outside onto the deck, demanding her motives from her in a yelling voice. The crew turned from their stations to watch while they worked. Most of them suspected this would happen. Rose yelled back at him- her cheeks as red as her hair- that if he couldn't commit entirely to her, she had the right to go philander with any man she fancied. Jack growled at her that she wouldn't do that on his ship. Rose argued that she very well could. It went on like that for quite a while, and the crew's ears began to ache eventually. When the couple was hoarse and so angry with each other that they couldn't speak, they stormed to opposite ends of the ship and didn't see each other until the next day. Jack had a talk with Schmitz, who protested that Rose was only doing it to make Jack jealous, she had it written all over her face, and she talked of him the way a woman does when she wants a man to notice her. He said he would've objected to her actions, but Jack broke in at that moment. Schmitz, in order to prove his point, pulled out a picture of a young blonde-haired girl with a cheerful smile, saying that he had his heart set on her. Jack, feeling unceremoniously judicious at that moment, decided to forgive Schmitz, concluding that he was too valuable of a sailor to let go. They made their way to a port nearby, it was English. Jack figured this jealous thing Rose had going on would die down eventually. But when he found Rose the next day acting overly friendly than normal to random men, distracting them form their work, he lost his patience. He quickly walked over to her, the _Black Pearl_ coming up to the docks slowly, and confronted her. She turned to him with cold, hateful eyes. Jack gave her a sneer with a nod of his head, and threw her overboard. Rose toppled into the shallow water, screaming angrily. Jack paused to make sure her head came up above the surface, before turning and ordering Barbossa to turn round and head north by northwest. Barbossa looked at him as if he were mad, but Jack simply yelled some more. The confused crew obeyed sullenly. Jack, for as long as they could remember, was the best pirate captain anyone had seen on the high seas; but when he got tangled up in love he was the worst possible fool to ever step aboard a ship. The _Black Pearl_ left Rose soaked to the bone, screeching curses into the wind on the dock as passerby stopped to stare at the spectacle. Jack hadn't seen her since.

Jack remembered all this as he stared at his old girlfriend, sneering coldly back at him.

"So…" Jack said, regaining his voice, "You're a captain now?"

"Aye," Rose's smirk was filled with conceited pride, "All agree I pirate a ship far better than any man."

"Which explains why we sacked everyone on your ship in… let's see… less than an hour." Jack replied coolly.

All of his crew laughed. Even a few of the men from the _Selkie_ chuckled to themselves, despite their situation. Rose's proud smirk withered, reduced to a broken glare.

"You're really full of it, Sparrow." She growled.

"You're really full of it, _Captain_ Sparrow, if ye please."

"Release me. You've had your fun. Now let us go if ye be a man," she paused. "Oh, wait. Never mind about the man part. Just let us go, if ye please, _little Jack_."

It was the crew of the _Selkie's_ turn to laugh now. Barbossa snickered, but was received a death glare and remained silent.

Jack turned back to Rose. "I'm afraid we can't do that, lass. We're going to take yer crew prisoners."

"What will become of our ship?"

"Don't worry, we'll bring it along for safekeeping. You can trust us to take good care of it, right gents?"

A cheer and more laughter. Rose looked around, quivering.

"You can't do that. It's in the Code."

"Technically, we're not _stealing_ your ship. The Code says if a crew has been taken hostage, the pirate crew in question has the right to seize the ship or leave it behind. If ye were a _real_ pirate captain, ye'd _really _know the Code."

Snorts and snickers of laughter. Murmurs about women being good for only one thing. A death glare cold as ice quickly diminished these remarks. Rose turned back, and spat at him. The crew of the _Selkie_ jeered and arrrr-ed at Jack, egging him to do something vicious. They knew their captain would conquer him in five minutes or less, it would be entertaining.

The scene was interrupted by Bootstraps, who came running up with a bundle and a few scrolls of paper protruding from his big arms. "Captain!" he called, "Captain, we found another one on the ship!"

Jack glanced over at him. "Well, why isn't 'e tied up with the rest?"

"It's a she." Bootstraps handed the bundle to him. Jack uncovered the blanket wrapped around it, to find two wide emerald eyes staring back at him.

"A… a baby?" Jack sputtered.

"Yours, actually," Rose commented from her binds, "Little bugger does nothing but cry. 'Er name is Erin."

Jack stared in horror at the child blinking up at him. She played with a shiny cufflink on his jacket, cackling gleefully. "Take 'em below," Jack ordered. The crew of the _Black Pearl_ pulled the crew of the _Selkie_ to their feet, pushing them down into the hold. Jack grabbed Rose by the shoulders, looking into her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me you bore a child?" he demanded.

Rose looked back at him with cold, unblinking, hurt eyes, and said barely above a whisper, "Honestly, Jack, would you have cared?"

Jack stared at her for a moment, before letting her go. Hobbes grabbed her and gently- because she was a woman- but firmly pushed her to below deck where her crew sat tied up in a cage below. Rose continued to glare at him as her curly red head disappeared into the hold. Jack stared after her indifferently; a serious, calloused look in his brown eyes: it was a look Captain Jack Sparrow didn't give people often. He reserved it only for special occasions, such as when someone close to him was threatening him and went too far, finding themselves soon regretting it. Such a look required utmost solemnity and graveness in the person who was forced to perform such an act that it would cause so much pain from someone so close, which is why Captain Jack- for all of his alleged malevolence and criminality- never gave this look often. He would find much later on in his life that he would give the same look to his first mate Barbossa, whom was at that moment boarding the _Selkie_ to follow the _Pearl_, when he was forced to shoot him with a gun he had been carrying with only one shot for years.

Yet Captain Sparrow, as he gave orders to raise anchor and hoist sails and bid Barbossa and several other crew mates to follow his lead, despite his calloused stare and rival-like attitude towards the captain he had tied up, found himself strangely developing affections for his old lover. He hadn't seen in her in years, but now that he had laid eyes on her and found she (both physically and mentally) hadn't changed, he found the old feelings for her way back when found their way out again. Jack tried to dismiss these heated feelings; but they refused to leave. Little did he know that his recipient returned his affections mutually.

A few days passed. Jack, busy trying to keep up with two able ships, rarely had time to sneak a glimpse of Rose. He did see her though, when strolling down to see if everything was in order and no one was trying to break out. She stared at him from the bars of her confinement with that jealous look shed had given him while flirting with Schmitz. (Schmitz, by the way, finally decided not a few months before to go and marry his bonny love and settle down under a false name.) Behind those sparkling emeralds of eyes, he saw her want for him too.

"I trust you're having a lovely stay aboard our humble ship. We know ye aren't used to such circumstances, what with all of yer fine pirating and elegant ships and all." Jack grinned mischievously.

Rose chuckled hiding the bone she was using to pick the lock of her prison from him, and getting up and crossing over so that she was within two inches of his face. "Silly, silly Jack," she whispered, "You never will learn that you cannot keep wild things that you love in cages for very long."

Jack blinked at her, taken back. He looked around him after a while, clearing his throat and striding up to the deck. He couldn't let them see him weak like this. He couldn't let her see him weak like this.

So Jack didn't go down and see her again for another day. He didn't even bother to send down an extra ration for his baby daughter, cooped up with her mother down there. Jack would never admit it, but he felt somewhat guilty for doing this. It wasn't a very paternal thing to do. However, cuddling and cooing at babied wasn't exactly a pirate-captain thing to do either.

But he saw Rose shortly after that. That night, as he was settling in bed (sometimes he slept, sometimes he would steer the ship into the night under the stars), he heard a creaking in the dresser in the corner. Jack glanced up, and drew his sword. Shirtless, he was off guard, but he had another weapon nearby. As Jack slowly pulled open the door, he wasn't surprised to find Rose crouching there, green eyes full of mischief and… lust, perhaps?

He opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped when Rose advanced, locking her arms around him quickly and pressing her lips on his passionately. Jack complied to her want, locking his strong arms about hers and hoisting her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He had been without her for so long, so long, she looked so beautiful, her breasts were so perfect, her hips fit in perfectly, her hair tangled deliciously up his dirty fingers, her gasps of pleasure so satisfying as he tugged hastily at her blouse. Rose was here. Rose was now. It was the only thing that crossed his mind: Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose! Rose is the only woman in the world. Rose is perfect. Rose wants me. I want Rose. Rose. Rose…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, across the dark depths of the Caribbean Sea, a young French girl-woman sang lullabies to a child she did not birth, dreaming of far away places and familiar brown eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The ship creaked peacefully in the Caribbean morning, as Jack awoke to the scent of the sea and red hair caressing his bearded face. For one moment, he stared at the smooth, bare back of his lover, the ripples and rolling hills of her body hidden demurely under a sheet, and felt at peace: everything in life was right and justified and innocent. But then, just for a moment, as he glanced from Rose's shoulders to her beautiful jawbones, he laid eyes upon her neck. Quickly, only for a second, another face flashed before his eyes, and he felt culpable. Jack sighed. Why did he feel so culpable so often? He was a bloody pirate, for heaven's sake. Pirates are tough, rough, and do not care for babies. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for the job, because he never thought doing something so villainous would require so much heaving and sighing and feeling sorry for oneself after one had committed yet another wrong deed. Sleeping with Rose was very wrong indeed. Firstly, she might turn on him any moment and cut off his… arms… holding him captive and gaining back her ship. Second, she had betrayed him, and he never felt for women who betray him- except lust. Was that all he had been feeling? Lust? He supposed so. Barbossa was going to be sulky again; he always got moody when Jack brought relations into his career, because the rest of the crew had to put up with it. Sometimes Jack wondered if Barbossa would ever reach a breaking point, and betray him or something. No, he would never do that. Barbossa was all talk, that's all. There was a fourth thing too… yes… he was already married! Oh, well, when had that ever stopped him? Still, he did feel that terribly annoying guilt as he lay there in bed, tangled up in the arms of another woman, thinking about the poor lass at home singing lullabies to another one of his mistakes. Why was he running into so many of his children lately? Oh, the baby! He had forgotten, as usual.

"Where…" Jack started, "Where's Erin?"

Rose turned over, and sighed. "How should I know. Probably back in the hold somewhere, with the crew. She's terribly annoying, just like 'er dad," she smiled, and kissed his nose.

Jack heard shouts above him on the deck, rising from the sheets to listen. Oh, Lord, what was it this time?

"Captain!" Barbossa shouted, "Captain!"

"Jack?" Rose sat up in the covers, "Jack, what is it?"

Jack hurriedly scrambled out of bed, grabbing his pants and shirt and putting them on hastily. "What?" he shouted.

"Captain," Barbossa opened the door, panting, "They've gone! They've broken out… they're on the _Selkie_!"

"Then where's-" Jack dashed up the stairs to the deck, staring in disappointment at what was behind him. Not the _Selkie_, not his great conquest, but the Caribbean sea- smirking back at him with as it gently creaked the ship, almost telling him _see, you knew it was coming._

Rose peeked her head out of the captain's quarters, wrapped in the sheet, and gasped at the disappearance of her ship. "Oh, hang it all! The bloody scoundrels went off and left me!" she cursed, rather boorishly.

Jack grabbed her arm. "You let them go, didn't you." He growled.

Rose glared back at him fiercely. "Don't be daft, Jack. I didn't let them go. They must've used the bone I used to break out. God! Why did they go off and leave me?" she cursed a few more times. Jack pounded his head against the mast. God, why did lust have to be the one weakness of his that always screwed him up?

Barbossa jerked him back, fuming. "She _broke out_, and you _let _her_ sleep _with you?" he cried angrily, flecks of spit flying every which way.

Jack tore away, dashing down to the hold to just check to see if anyone was still left. No. The cage door was left hanging open. Erin was still in the other cage, though, wailing. Jack cursed some more, hastily grabbing his daughter and handing her off to Bootstraps- he would know what to do. Bootstraps nodded, hurriedly taking the child off somewhere where she would be safe. He was a good man.

It was no use. The ship was out of sight. They could try to catch up with it and blow it to smithereens, but what was the use? They were bored, they had their fun, and now it was time to move on. Still, the blame was upon him. The crew looked at him with cold, calloused eyes- staring at him the stare he gave Rose not few days ago. It didn't make him feel... like he deserved the title of captain. He had let his wants get in the way of everything else- again- and the crew would make him pay for it. But not yet.

"The question is," he said wearily, later on in the day after he had gotten clothes on, "is whether or not we want to catch up with them again, or if we want to just go our own path again."

A great, stony silence weighed down the _Black Pearl_. No one spoke for a while. All eyes stared at him in solemn, condemning judgment. Jack sighed.

"Listen, I know it's my fault. I know I did wrong. I'm not perfect, gents. If anyone in here is in fact without any imperfections, please step forward."

No one did. Bootstraps volunteered something in the back. "It's not all a loss, captain. I… um… I managed to steal something from the ship." Jack looked up. The crew all turned to stare at him. Bootstraps twiddled his thumbs. "They hid their maps in the left-hand drawer of the _captain's_ dresser. So… well, when I was over there, I thought that it wouldn't do that much harm to… well…"

"Well?" Jack demanded, his eyes bright.

"Steal of them. Treasure maps. Even the one leading to the island where they buried all their loot." Bootstraps shrugged. "I'm sure they won't mind."

Jack grinned as the crew began to laugh. "Bootstraps ol' mate, that was very ungallant of you indeed," Jack called.

Bootstraps shrugged again. "Pirate," he reminded everyone. The crew clapped him on the back.

"I suppose we can forgive ye this _one_ time, Jack," Bootstraps rolled his eyes, "After all, who'd not give into lovely temptation like that? Ye are, after all, a man. Or supposed to be, anyway."

Jack ignored this jab at his manliness. He wasn't in the mood for arguing, he had just been forgiven out of one in one million chances. "Alright then, gents! Hoist sails and set course for Tortuga!"

The crew cheered, scrambling to their places. Jack gave Bootstraps a manly, grateful clap on the back.

"Yer a good man, Bootstraps," Jack said.

"Happy to be of service, cap'n," Bootstraps said, before climbing the ropes to his lookout position.

Rose stayed in his room all day. Jack didn't know what she could possibly be doing in there, but he thought he heard yelling of frustration coming from his bedroom a few times. He didn't see her all day, as he was busy regaining his authority by ordering everyone around in a very primarily-career-focused manner. He planned on telling Rose about everything that night. Who knows, maybe she would come back as part of the crew. But what would the crew think about that? They were not the sort to forgive Jack for the same mistake involving the same woman three times, as they rarely forgave at all. So Jack put the thought in the back of his head, and worked all day on the deck. That night he slept on the deck, propped up against the mast, snoring. No one on watch that night bothered to disturb him. He awoke early that morning, rather tense and sore, going downstairs while everyone was asleep to check on Rose. But when he searched the room, he found she wasn't there. Her clothes were gone, as well as one of his swords. Jack dashed to the deck, went to the kitchen, found some of the food gone that should have been there, dashed back up to the deck, and found one of the rowboats gone (there were two, one on each side). Then he knew- she had gone. Jack wasn't all that surprised, he somehow knew she was teaching him he couldn't keep wild things caged up forever. And as Jack stared out into the sea most of that morning, taking a good swig of rum and thinking deeply about what he should do now, the crew went on their way manning the ship as if it were any other day. The watches never bothered to tall him they had seen her go that night; they thought it best that she should go. The cook didn't even say anything about the missing rations, although Hobbes one time made a comment on the thinness of the soup a short time after. Jack stood there on his ship, thinking about the baby Rose had apparently left behind, for Bootstraps found her that morning sleeping peacefully where he left her. He sighed, looking out across the smirking Caribbean sea, feeling once again let down by someone. It wouldn't be fair to let Erin down by keeping her here.

He knew what he had to do.


	8. The Sun Rises in the West Today

**Author's Note:** I decided to come back from the dead and take a visit. Woot! Sorry I have neglected to update, you all know the deal. School is mania,my teachers are spawn of the devil, the National Llama Brigade had decided to call for a revoltion against me and attempt to destroy my empire by spitting on my dark fortress in hopes of eriosion making it crumble thousands of years from now, etcetera etcetera. To make up for my long slump, I have written a rather lengthy chapter for you.In return, I ask you to please please pretty please with a Willy Wonka on top review. Even if you just skimmed through this story becuase you were curious; it helps me decide what I'm going to do with the story next. I am eternally grateful.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, Captain Jack Sparrow, Bootstraps Bill Turner, Will Turner, Barbossa, the Black Pearl, or the Caribbean. But I do own you. (creepy smile)

* * *

The air was hot and tight when the licentious crew of the Pearl docked at Tortuga. It was like any other July night on the island- the city itself was trashed, and the parts of it that weren't being eaten by flames or looted by thieves were covered in grime. The combination of dirt caked onto the walls and the sweat of one hundred filthy bodies all rubbing together in such a tight space gave you the stickiest, filthiest feeling: it made you want to take five or six cold baths while scrubbing you skin raw with a bar of soap. This was what Tortuga stood for: dirt, both literal and mental. Prostitutes, vagabonds, ruffians and thieves- all cramped together, trying to have a good time in the bleak life they were born into and therefore condemned, while trying to survive from being ripped apart by their fellow neighbors. The senses were dulled in Tortuga. By the unbearable heat. By the distorted images of grimy men and painted women whose makeup ran down their scarlet cheeks, conjugating and departmentalizing together again; the juncture being the lulling fog of the effects of one too many pints of rum. By the mess of noise of shots and shouts and belches and laughter. By the stench of sweat and body odor and the adhesive, unsettling feeling of being so hot you stick to anything you touch. Dirt. Grime. They were poor, and boorish, yet they were wealthy with… something; none of them knew. Whatever it was, it kept them going- it was the reason why Jack loved being a pirate.

Barbossa had been acting more cold and haughty to Jack than usual lately. He said he would forgive Jack for all his "mistakes", but Jack suspected that Barbossa was still apprehensive of all the "mistakes" to come; and despite all Jack's vows to do better, they both knew Jack wouldn't be able to help making many, many more. It was in his nature. It was a weakness. And you never show weaknesses when you are a pirate. Especially a captain. When Jack talked to him, he merely grunted his replies if responding at all; and when Jack gave orders, Barbossa would mutter some sort of condescending remark behind his back. Barbossa had seen a flaw in his leader, and- seeing an opportunity to step up to power- was now testing his authority. Barbossa's behavior was nagging at Jack, worrying him, but he decided to shrug it off till later. Right now he had bigger fish to fry.

"I'm going to take the kid back- somewhere safe. Somewhere where she'll 'ave a good 'ome." Jack informed Barbossa over a mug of beer.

Barbossa at first said nothing. "I suppose you'll be needing to take a boat, then. To visit yer old whatzername."

"Aye." Jack replied, not bothering to argue that whatzername was certainly not old, and certainly not his. He didn't _own_ anything. He didn't _need_ anything. A pirate doesn't need anyone; he doesn't need a cow when he can have the milk for free. And they served a bloody lot of milk here in Tortuga. In fact, there was a rather nice glass of milk staring at him right now. She licked her lips, and he gave her a wink. But not right now. Maybe when he came back. He needed to get this out of the way.

"So I think ye'll be needing Bootstraps to come along and be yer lapboy, will ye?" Barbossa mumbled into his mug.

Jack slammed his mug down on the table. "Listen, Barbossa," he snapped, or rather slurred and tripped slightly, because the beer was kicking in, "One can only take so much abrasiveness, savvy? I may be a drunk, and I may be an aphrodisiac, but the point is I'm still yer bloody captain. Now if ye don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you suck up and quit sulking around like a pansy, because frankly yer dampening my spirits. Do ye savvy?"

"Aye, captain." The words came cold out of the first mate's mouth through gritted teeth. Barbossa didn't look up.

"Good. I'll be back in a few days." Jack turned and tried as best he could to walk in a straight line out the door, which was what he assumed hard-core, stringent captains did when making a dramatic exit. However, Jack tripped on a random object (it could have been a mug, or an unconscious bum after a fight, he didn't really see in the dim light) and fell right into the bosom of another woman. It wasn't the woman Jack had been eying before, this one was familiar. Jack blinked his eyes several times to get a good look at her.

"Emily?" he remembered, his voice muffled from the depths of the woman's cleavage.

"I'm Emily," a woman crossed over and stood with her arms crossed in front of Jack.

"Oh. Yes. Good to see ye both. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Jack went to go, but the woman with the canyon cleavage hurled a whack at him, and then Emily hurled a slap of her own, ending up at his jaw line. Both hits caused Jack to tumble backward to the ground. Both women, satisfied, gave the other one of those condescending snooty girlish once-overs, and stalked away. Jack stood up presently, and resumed his stumbling towards the door. He tried not to fall over again.

XXXXXXXXX

Jack found Bootstraps in one of the taverns, in the middle of some brawl. Jack didn't think anyone knew the cause of the fight. In fact, Jack assumed that two people just stood up and started randomly fighting, just because they were bored. That was the way things were done in Tortuga. Jack had half the mind to go out and pick some random person on the street and duke it out with him. Maybe an old person. Old people were getting on his nerves lately, and Jack had no idea why. But he didn't go and join/start a fight. He had business tonight.

"Bootstraps," he called, "Bootstraps Bill Turner!"

"Aye, Captain?" Bootstraps' voice was heard from the bowels of the mass of punching bodies.

"Time to go. We need to make a delivery."

"Yes, sir." Bootstraps clambered out of the pile of struggling people getting beaten silly, giving one final sharp kick in the rear to some man nearby. The man let out a girlish squeal, only to be pulled under into the bottom of the pile, where the fight was most extreme. With Bootstraps following at his heels, Jack stumbled and shuffled to the nearest boat, his arms waving like sails on a revolving wind mill. Although Jack only walked like this when he was drunk, many years later it would become a well-known characteristic of his that would come to be known as "the cat-walk". Bootstraps couldn't help but grin behind his captain's back; although he liked and respected his captain very much (even though Jack was in turn younger than he,) he always though Jack walked like a simpering girl when he was drunk. Bootstraps wondered why, but never dared to ask.

"Where are we going to get a boat, Captain?" Bootstraps asked.

"We're going to borrow one."

"Ah. Who are we going to borrow it from? Salty Pete?"

"No, I owe 'im a bit of money, and I don't think 'ee's forgotten it so quickly yet. I'm going to visit an old friend of mine."  
"Do you owe 'im a bit of money as well, Captain?"

"'Er."

"What?"

"'Er. It's a she. She an' I are good mates, actually. I think… with a bit of persuasion… she might let me use one of 'er boats. Rather provincial business she's got going, y'see."

"Oh. That explains it." Bootstraps was quiet for a minute as Jack sauntered on. "If I may, Captain, 'ow is it that you can be good chums with a woman? Most women that see you more than twice have a tendency to…" he stopped after Jack spun around quickly and gave him the darkest glower he could muster.

They walked all the way to the other side of the town, Jack getting lost once, and having to go back several blocks and retrace his steps, finally remembering the directions to the boat shack, and arriving there when the night was late and dawn was a few hours away. Jack was about to knock on the door, when he paused, and turned towards Bootstraps. "You know, we really don't have to leave right at this moment. It's best if we wait till dawn to set out. Why don't you go… gather supplies or something… and get a few hours rest and I'll go in and see if I can get the boat. Savvy?"

"Aye, Captain." Bootstraps knew what Jack was going to do. He took his leave, before Jack rapped on the door.

"'Ello, love, did ye miss me?" he could be heard saying. Bootstraps rolled his eyes. Someday, Bootstraps was sure of it, Jack would be killed tragically by a mob of angry women he had taken advantage of. Rather pathetic for a pirate to be killed by one or more hormonal women.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bootstraps arrived a few hours later, right before dawn. It took him a little while to navigate back to the little shack on the side of the sea in the dawn light, but Bootstraps arrived just in time. Bootstraps found Jack sneaking out of the house, his arms full of boating supplies and a few bottles of rum. Jack hurriedly put his fingers to his lips, bidding Bootstraps to follow him to the docks. They picked the biggest ship floating there, (there weren't many to pick from) judging it as the best. The sun was beginning to peek its lustrous head above the cool gray blanket of the Caribbean Sea when Bootstraps untied the ropes and shoved off. The quaint little boat chugged away from the dock and the little shack and the crudely painted sign above reading _"Annamaria's Boat Rental"_, as a screech was heard from inside the house. Jack jumped up, either shaken from his sleepiness or scared out of his boots, crossing over to see n exotically beautiful woman emerge in only a thin nightgown, waving her arms madly, screeching curses at Captain Sparrow (that made even Bootstraps blush), who gave her a little wave. She shook her fists, yelling something about if she ever got her hands on him she'd cut off something very dear to him and serve it to her stepfather for supper with sautéed mushrooms and a bottle of cheap wine, finally completing her threat with a very rude symbol involving a middle finger, that wasn't ladylike at _all_. But hey, this was Tortuga, what could you expect? Jack blew a sarcastic kiss to the shouting woman upon the shore, giving her a nonchalant wave and heading back to the wheel.

"And you wonder how we manage to stay such good chums," Jack remarked, before sauntering over to the pile of supplies and fishing out a bottle of rum. He took a long drink, before fishing out a compass. A compass- Bootstrap understood- that had supposedly broken two years ago. But Jack was never one to give up old companions quickly. Well, companions that were inanimate. Inanimate objects were friendlier to him.

"Right. We're going northwest. So… northwest would be… um…" Jack tossed the compass aside, picking a random direction. "That way."

"Are you sure, captain?"

"Of course I'm bloody sure! Why wouldn't I be bloody sure? I _am_ a _captain_, you know."

"Well… it's just… the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. And the sun is currently rising that way," Bootstraps pointed.

Jack stared for a long moment at the horizon, either transfixed or trying to hold down a bit of a hangover. He took a few steps towards Bootstraps, leaning in close to his face. "Now Bootstraps, being a pirate is no excuse to stereotype. Did you ever think that maybe the sun decided to rise in a different direction today?"

"No, sir."

"That's right. That's because you followed all those silly old wives tales about the sun _always_ rising the same way. For your information, the sun has feelings, and occasionally the sun _might_ deserve a chance to try a change in its daily routine. I think we can afford to let the sun rise in the south today, don't you? I mean honestly, the sun works its bloody arse off every day trying to light up everything, and keep us all warm, and what do we do in return? We tell the sun it doesn't have the _right_ to rise in any other direction but west-"

"East."

"That's what I said. As I was saying, it doesn't have any right to rise in any other direction. That's just plain rude."

"A terrible crime."

"It is indeed, Bootstraps, it is indeed. Now, please will you take it in your best interest to be a little more polite to the sun."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

"Good. Carry on."

Bootstraps did as he was told.

Jack nonchalantly turned the boat around about a quarter of an hour later. "I think New Antoine has the right to be located southeast from us too, don't you agree, Bootstraps?"

"I certainly do, Captain."

"Fantastic. Off we go, then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I suppose you're all wondering how little Erin was doing through all of this. She had been very quiet without her mother since Rose left; a really agreeable baby. (She wouldn't be as quiet when she was older, as Jack would find out later.) The pirates didn't pay much attention to the little thing, except to feed her and change her (Hobbes still held the record,) and let her sleep. They were more experienced with infants now since Robert had been on the ship- to their terror. It thoroughly disturbed them all that a pirate could know so much- no, merely "much" at all- about caring for children. But Erin survived through the trip to Tortuga, even though more critical mothers observing would have said the conditions for her weren't suitable at all and that it was because she had her mother's will that she stayed alive and well. One of the pirates had decided to give Erin a little tour of the city, stopping by what one would call a "house of painted ladies" to show the pretty little girl off to all the other women- some not 10 years older than the baby. As we all know, readers, women are prone to shower men with either babies or puppies in their possession wit affection than men with wedding bands or ugly faces. The prostitutes simply adored little Erin, but Bootstraps quickly whisked the child away when the said pirate left her in the lounge chair in the lobby to let the women shift their attentions to him. (Bootstraps had been informed by the crewmember of Erin's whereabouts, since he had been unofficially considered the "Wrangler of all Illegitimate Children on the Ship," or sometimes "Mother Charity" for short. Erin had slept throughout the night and dawn, and was now beginning to wake and start to cry from hunger.

Jack was in deep thought as he operated the whole ship while Bootstraps made an attempt to feed the baby. "I hope she'll take 'er."

"I think she will, sir. She's a good lass with a fondness for babies and an unnatural patience for-" he caught himself about to say _'you'_, and finished, "unfavorable circumstances. For her, I mean."

"But what if she doesn't?" Jack continued, "What could I do with the kid then?"

"You could raise 'er on the ship,"

"Aye, the crew would have a field day with that one," Jack grumbled, thinking of Barbossa and his snide remarks, "Not to mention my complete disregard of responsibility and tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve. Not very good qualities in parent, you know. Besides, the little bugger would get 'erself into danger all the time, and frankly I'm too busy to keep up with some wild itty-bitty running to and fro all over me ship."

Bootstraps translated that into '_I do realize I am somewhat irresponsible, and I don't think I could forgive myself if any harm came to one of my own out of my own doing._'

"No, Bootstrap Bill," Jack continued, "I believe the best thing for Erin would be to be raised proper, under a woman who is able to take care of 'er." He paused. "I suppose if Fantine won't take 'er, I'll have to put 'er into an orphanage."

"I wouldn't recommend, it, Captain, if I may. Being an orphan meself, there's more of a chance of 'er getting hurt in one of those pig pins than on the _Black Pearl_."

Jack rested his chin on the top of the wheel, staring thoughtfully out to sea. "We'll just need to hope for the best."

Despite himself, Jack took a very long drink of the bottle of rum lying nearby.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They arrived in New Antoine that night, and crept in just the same way they did before. In the season where not many ships- both pirate and trade vessels- come around, security wasn't as stringent. This was used to the two pirate's advantages. This time, they remembered the city well enough to not have to stop and ask for directions from promiscuous innkeepers, although they were a bit deferred on one of the roads due to a recent construction and development of a new road. However, they managed to make it as the dawn was rising.

Bootstraps sensed Jack's apprehensiveness. He really didn't know why Jack had any reason to be nervous; probably because he thought Fantine wouldn't be so easy to persuade to give him what he wanted when she figured out the only real reason he was even acknowledging her presence in his life was just because he needed someone to help him get himself out of a pickle. Woman had a tendency to get angry about that sort of thing. Why they did this was another thing Bootstraps didn't understand. Jack was starting to do his "intoxicated walk" now; his arms reeled about as he sauntered along, taking swigs of rum at very short intervals. Bootstraps tried to stay away from the drink- for tonight at least; he knew he must be the one to try to mediate between the two if anything were to happen.

The inn was the same as it had been a year ago, sleepy, windows like warm yellow eyes, lids half-shut and starting to droop. They entered the place, greeted with stares and raised eyebrows; a few mothers nervously edged a little closer to their babies and their husbands, who were busy drinking at the bar. A barmaid's eyelashes fluttered as they passed, her bosom rising and falling as Jack glanced at her, giving her a grin as he sauntered by in the style of a fop. They crossed the dining room, and entered the lobby, positioned in a room diagonal from the bar. Mrs. Stew sat expectantly at the main desk, book open and shoes on desk.

"Evening, gentlemen," she raised an eyebrow at them, "Don't bother introducing yourselves; I remember. I suspect you'll be going to see Fantine, then." She pulled out a handkerchief, and began to cough violently into it.

"We'd like to get a room."

"One room? Will that be one bed or two? We do offer couple's accommodations, now." A coy smirk. Jack returned it with a glare. As mean a glare a drunken pirate could give an old lady.

"_Two beds_, if ye please, my good lady." He said, signing his name on the guest list. Bootstraps, who could not write, watched as Jack scribbled out the name _'Mr. John Smith_,' on the paper. That was the name Jack used whenever in forced in public. Sometimes he would switch the first name to Edgar. "Because I've always thought the name Edgar would be rather interesting to have," Jack would say when asked why he did so. Although Bootstraps was surprised Jack didn't slip up in his writing, being as he was under the inducement of a few too many bottles of rum.

"She's finishing up serving the customers their dinner, if you want to see her. But _don't_ bother her until she's finished. I can't afford any distractions for the staff tonight."

"As ye wish, good lady," Jack bowed, and stumbled a bit, before going to the dining room to sit down in the two comfy chairs by the fair- the same ones they had sat in last year. This whole thing was getting rather routine, actually.

They spotted Fantine a few minutes later, though she did not spot them at first. She emerged from the kitchen with a large tray on her hand, laden with what looked like steaming goulash and a few mugs of something. She carried it over to a table beyond, where five or six men sat, pounding their fists on the table and arguing about something extremely important. When she served the stew to them, Jack noticed one of the men not-so-subtly reached for Fantine's rear, (if one could call it a rear, not just a mass of bones and skin and skirt,) only to have it smacked away quickly by the pinchee. As she circled the table, setting down the bowls, the man tried it again, arousing humor from his friends. Finally, Fantine took one of the knives on the tray, and slammed it blade-down into the worn table, leaning on it with a very cold, condescending scowl on her face, not saying a word. The man held up hands, palms up, backing off. The men jeered and mocked and guffawed. Fantine wrenched the blade from the wood, dropping it with a clatter, and marching off to go served someone else.

Jack wondered why a man would make an attempt to grab his wife's rear. Normally, when he grabbed women, he aimed for the plump, nice-looking butts. Like the one on that barmaid over there. She had plump, nice-looking breasts too. He found himself staring a hole into them, as if trying to see past the cloth. The barmaid probably saw him staring, for she had made eye contact with him and started to giggle incessantly, fingering her low neckline, fondling her cleavage. Apparently it aroused the man drinking in front of her, for he started to stare as well; his wife saw him and smacked him on the back of the head. The man at the booth stopped for a little while.

Fantine came back to serve two cups of tea to an elderly couple. The old man smiled up at her, and took her hand in his old wrinkly spotted one.

"Miss Pascal, I am going to make you a wonderful husband. You and I are going to have such romantic adventures together, just you wait, my love!"

Fantine smiled down at him, patting his hand, "Monsieur Jenkins, I would just love to jump into your arms and accept you proposal, however I do believe the law keeps us apart."

"However do you mean, my dear?"

"Your wife is sitting next to you, sir, and I'm not in the spirits of committing bigamy. Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Jenkins?"

Mr. Jenkins turned to find his wife, arms crossed, glaring at him. "Jessica, my love! You're back from the dead!"

"Unfortunately." Mrs. Jenkins replied. Fantine curtsied, and moved on back to the kitchen.

When Fantine emerged again wiping her hands, this time taking off her apron and putting on another one, Mrs. Stew called her over. She murmured a few words to her, pointing at the two pirates. Fantine caught eye of them, her face brightening as she waved. Mrs. Stew nagged her about something, and then gave her leave. Fantine quickly bustled over to the fireplace.

"'Ello, lass," Jack slurred. Bootstraps stood to give her an embrace.

"It's so good to see you! What, has it been a year already?"

"I believe so."

"It seems like longer. How have you two been getting on? How's the… business… coming along?"

"Dandy. Yer… yer English seems to be improving very well."

"Oh, yes, thank you," Fantine's ears grew red, "I have been practicing often. My accent is still very obvious, though; many people recognize it. But I am getting better at my vocabulary."

"That's good," Bootstraps said. They sat in awkward silence for a while. Fantine looked from Jack to Bootstraps, and Jack glanced at a tattoo on his hand.

"So… how's life at the inn, then? You and Robert getting along fine?"

"Oh, yes!" Fantine grinned, "He's a little sweetheart. Rather rambunctious, sometimes, but he's approaching becoming a toddler, and little boys are rather restless. But he's so sweet. All the guests love him dearly."

It wasn't like pirates to commence in small talk. That's why Jack suddenly blurted out, "Good news! We've got another baby for you!"

Fantine and Bootstraps stared at him, open-mouthed. Even the room got a little quiet. Jack paused, trying to flash his most innocent smile. Which wasn't very innocent at all, actually.

"Very nice, Captain."

"Shut up."

"Is _that_ the only reason why you came to visit?" Fantine stood up abruptly.

"Well, no…"

"Yes it is."

"But I just said it wasn't!"

"I can read you, Captain Jack Sparrow."

"John Smith, if ye please."

"Are you drunk as well?"

"No… yes."  
"You're drunk, and you think you can just come to me with _another _baby?" Fantine's voice was getting louder with each blunder Jack made. People eating were beginning to stare. Bootstraps stood up.

"I think we should take this to a place a little more pirate. I mean private. Sorry."

Fantine turned on her heel and marched out of the room towards the bedrooms, not bothering to bid them to follow her. The two pirates grabbed Erin, who had woken up, and followed her, Bootstraps trying to look inconspicuous and Jack stumbling alongside of him, giving a wink to the barmaid as he passed.

"You're not helping this situation, Captain," Bootstraps sighed as they tailed Fantine, sulking up to her room.

"Sorry 'bout that," Jack slurred, tripping. He must have been very drunk indeed. They entered her room, to find Robert sleeping still in a new cradle. As they looked around, they found the whole room had been rearranged, with a few new pieces of furniture: such as the cradle, another smaller desk, and the old rocking chair, which now sat facing the moonlight out to the sea, a candle lit on the desk next to the window. It was very picturesque. Fantine, being French, must be into that sort of thing. Or at least Bootstraps assumed, that all French people were aesthetic somewhere deep down inside of them.

"I'm sorry if I was… blunt." Jack started. Fantine lit the candle, checking on Robert. He was now beginning to grow a mass of wispy black strands of hair on top of his head. Just like his mum. Well, his legitimate one. "Please, Fantine. I can't raise this one on the ship, you must know that. You know me," he grinned, trying to lighten the situation, "I'm too much of a scoundrel."

"Indeed," Fantine glared at him, and then looked at the child. Erin was staring at the lot of them, her mouth open and her eyes wide; she was a cutie.

"'Er name is Erin. She's 'alf-Irish, you know." Jack caught himself too late.

"Wonderful. I am _so_ relieved now that I know I will be taking care of a child of _Irish_ descent. What does it matter that she isn't mine? She's Irish!" Fantine threw her hands up in the air, rather eccentrically. Bootstraps thought she looked like a puppet on strings. Like a comical marionette.

"Wait… did you say you _will_ be taking care of her?" Jack brightened.

Fantine said nothing, but started to dust things. Everything; even Robert, who sneezed. She started mumbling to herself in French, (with a few words of English that were a bit negative) dusting with fervor the bed in one spot for a little while.

Jack waited. "Lass?"

Fantine stood erect. "Answer me this, Jack. Will there be more?"

"What?"

"Children! Will there be more children!"

"I… I don't know. It's probable."

Fantine crossed her arms again. "Probable."

"I mean… well… what I mean is…" Jack stumbled and stuttered. Bootstraps stepped in.

"Sometimes things just happen, Fantine. Call it fate, if you may. We all of us know yer the best one to take care of 'em. Without your patience… it's… well, we want 'em to 'ave a good life, it's only fair, but… Fantine, we're pirates."

Fantine still looked doubtful. Jack perked up. "I could pay you," he offered.

"_What!"_ she cried angrily.

"_Support_," Jack quickly corrected himself in a calm voice, "I meant _support_. I could support you. I know it's hard, trying to earn a living an' all, and raise two of me kids at the same time."

"Bloody right it is." Fantine growled grouchily.

"But… say I send ye a certain amount of… income… and… and that'll make things easier. Would ye do it then, lass?"

Fantine stared at him in disbelief. "You want me to _baby-sit_ your illegitimate children for you, in return for stolen… oh, what's the word…"

"Booty?" Bootstraps offered.

"Yes, thank you. In return for booty?"

"It's better than nothing," Jack shrugged.

"I can't believe you!"

"Think of it as a… matter of leverage, if ye savvy. Do ye savvy?" Jack asked hopefully.

"So… I raise your children, and you'll give me payment for my troubles." Fantine said, scratching her nail on the desk.

"Aye."

"And what if I want to move away from here?"

"If ye have enough of me money, sure. Go ahead."

"Please, Fantine," Bootstraps asked, putting a hand on her shoulder, "This would make all of this so much easier."

Doubt still lingered in her eyes.

"Please?" Jack asked. Fantine bit her lip, and looked from one pirate to the other. She turned around, and dusted some more, muttering to herself. Then, she turned around again, and reluctantly took Erin from Bootstraps.

Jack clasped his hands together, giving a little bow, as he normally did when taking advantage of people. "Yer a good lass, Miss Pascal," he smiled, advancing for an embrace. Fantine ducked, stalking past Bootstraps and turning on her heel at the door.

"Don't think I'm doing this for you, _Captain _Jack Sparrow. I'll be expecting my pay in prompt proximity." She growled, stamping like a toddler out the door.

Jack fiddled with the gun on his belt. "Well that went well."

"How much do ye expect to pay her?" Bootstraps said quietly.

"A whole bloody ship's worth of Spanish gold, Bootstraps, if it'll make ye bloody happy. I can't understand why everyone just can't _relax _and take this thing easy-like. It would be so much easier if she acted like a man, and it would be so much easier if everyone else stopped acting like bloody women, and I need a drink, and why can't that bloody old woman downstairs just…" he cat-walked out, muttering to himself as he went to find the room they were staying in.

Bootstraps sat down wearily in the rocking chair. Robert was standing p in his crib, Bootstraps lifted him out and bounced him on his knee. He had recently received a letter from his bonny lass Mary. (They had eloped when he was young and impassioned, and married, though it was rather unofficial; she took on his last name.) She told him of his son, William, and how he was growing into such a fine boy. In a way, Bootstraps was regretful that he couldn't be there like a normal father to raise him right. He prayed to God (God and he had a very strange love-hate relationship) that little William would turn out all right- with honor, not at all like his father. Moreover, not like Jack, God love him. And he also prayed to God for Jack- that Fantine wouldn't kill him and take him money while he was fumbling around and refusing to clean up the toys he had pulled out of his toy box. A freakish lot, all of them.

"Yer the only one in this bunch that 'as any sense, Robert old chum," he smiled. Robert hiccupped, and wet his diaper with glee.

* * *

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	9. Hope Is All We Have

**Author's Note: **I had meant to update so much more often, but I've been busy. As usual. It seems most of the authors are pretty busy, I've noticed. Oh well. Here's another chapter, I know, it's sort of a filler, but I've got some good stuff coming up. Let me know whatyou think of this one, sorry for the wait.

* * *

Bootstrap Bill was having trouble sleeping again. It was the land; it didn't move right. It didn't rock, and pulse, like a real living thing. Land was dead, compared to the sea. The gentle waves churning against the _Black Pearl_ manipulated the boat, enveloping in a fierce embrace one minute, then pushing it away the next. While such movements would make any land-lubber nauseous, to a lonely old pirate it was as the woman he loved was with him again, rocking him gently into a peaceful, undisturbed slumber, giving him enough solace and strength to do the painstaking duties that a seaman was required to do aboard. Jack had never been an easy sleeper to begin with, Bill was aware of the little-known fact. One would think that since he spent so much energy with his nightly exercises, he would be a dead sleeper in the morning, it would match his personality. T'was not so with the troubled Captain Jack. Bootstrap Bill happened to know that when he was not with a woman in the dead of night, he would be trying desperately to chart out some course with what blurred vision he had about him, and quick to rise in the morning, mostly to get out of trouble with the said previous woman. It was because Jack never could fall asleep and stay asleep for very long, for strange dreams haunted him in the night; Bill was one of the only men alive to know this. One night, over a few more pints of rum than usual, Jack confessed to him all the things that haunted his dreams. Strange, mysterious things- dreams of terrible monsters coming after him on his ship, of a young girl with soft eyes and a young man with a bitter heart, dreams of a life-or-death bargain lasting for all eternity, of being chained to the crushing depths of the deep sea bottom on a mysterious death ship shrouded in mist, captained by the very devil himself. This particular night had stuck out in Bill's head for a long time; even pirates aren't haunted continuously by such elaborate and terrifying dreams that it would even provoke a man to circumvent slumber itself. 

However, tonight Bill was the one to be plagued with insomnia. He had crept down the stairs into the tavern, and had lit a fire in the fireplace. Once the fire was big enough, he pulled one of the big leather chairs next to it, and took out his pipe, lighting it. And it was there that Bill had sat for quite a while, thinking.

Suddenly, he heard a thumping behind him. Bootstraps shook himself out of the hypnotic gaze he had on the dancing flames, and turned his body to look around the back of the chair. There, standing awkwardly on the steps with a bottle in hand, was Fantine. The ribbons of light caused by the licks of flame flickered around the room and mingled with the shadows, distorting Fantine's awkward, skeletonic figure and illuminating her bony face, making her look rather surreal. She paused, taken aback by the sudden awareness that she was not alone in her midnight endeavors, then made her way down the stairs towards him.

"Can't sleep?" Bill rasped; he hadn't used his voice in several hours.

"I thought I might get more blankets," Fantine said slowly, "You?"

"After being at sea for so long, the moving of the land betrays you when you come back," Bootstraps smiled to himself. "It's strange not sleeping on a deck."

Fantine pulled up a chair and sat down. "Do you need a drink or something? I can get it for you..."

"I'm fine, lass." Bootstraps settled back into his chair and took a puff of his pipe. Fantine watched him for a little while. Bootstraps looked at her and stopped puffing to offer her an inquisitive cock of his eyebrow.

"A shilling for yer thoughts."

"Nothing… it's just… I have heard from my mother that my father also smoked a pipe."

Bootstraps cracked a smile, and admirably looked over his pipe. "Latakia and red Virginia, with a hint of cedar. It's a full, robust smoke. A man's pipe tobacco."

"I like the smell."

"Me too," Bootstraps smiled, tapping the pipe on his forearm, "My father died in the late war, so I was raised by my grandfather before I was sent to sea. He mended nets, and I always remembered the smell of him. He smoked a pipe too." He gently handed the pipe to her. "I got that from a man from the Orient. See that, that's real ivory in the bowl, and the shank is polished cherry wood."

"There's a carving of a monster here," Fantine pointed at the bowl. Bootstraps leaned towards her.

"That's Panlong," Bill pointed, "One of nine Chinese dragons. He inhibits the sea, sometimes described as the coiling dragon. The man I got the pipe from was a merchant trader. Panlong is less selfish and opinionated than the other Dragons. He's more inhibited and less power-hungry. He can accept defeat without recriminations. He makes a good negotiator as he knows when, where, and how to apply pressure."

"He sounds like you," Fantine grinned.

"You think so?" Bootstraps took the pipe from her and stared at the carving for a little while. Then he glanced at Fantine looking at him, and offered the pipe to her. Fantine took it.

"Ye just put yer mouth over it like this, then take a little puff of it."

She put her mouth on the mouthpiece, then inhaled sharply, causing her to cough and hand the pipe quickly back to him. Bootstrap chuckled, and patted her gently on the back. "I think that's a bit too much smoke for ye, lass."

"It's awful!"

"I told ye, it's a man's smoke."

Fantine coughed out a laugh. Bill grinned at her. Once she had stopped coughing and hacking, Fantine settled back into her chair. "Is your grandfather still mending nets?"

"No…" Bootstraps paused, fixing his gaze back on the fire. "No, he died around my 17th birthday."

"Oh… I'm sorry. Did you get to say goodbye to him?"

"I was in the Spanish main."

"Oh." Fantine looked down awkwardly.

"S'alright," Bill smiled at her, "'E's in the white shores now."

"White… shores?"

"When a sailor makes 'is final journey, 'e's put on a silver ship, which makes port in a wondrous place with white shores, where the water is so blue and clear you can see all manner of animals swimming in the depths below, and the grass is soft and always green, and there's ne'er a cloud in the sky, and a bloke never has to swab a deck or raise a sail again."

"Sounds lovely."

"I'm sure it is." Bill sighed, leaning more into his chair, until the shadows caused by the great sides of the back enveloped him entirely. A long period of silence ensued between the two.

Finally, Fantine said, "Will you be going back to the _Black Pearl_ tomorrow?"

Bootstraps nodded. "Ye'll be alright with the two kids then?"

Fantine smiled. "I'm sure I can handle it. I just do not know about how Madam Stew will react. She… ah, what is word… I think she… you know, she thinks she knows about-"

"Suspects?"

"Oui. I think she suspects you two and what you are doing here. And now that there are two, and you will be gone…" she put a hand to her head, and stared into the fire for a long while. "You know, when I was out buying bread, I saw seven or so young girls about my age on their way to school. It was so funny, because they seemed so young and innocent compared to me, I felt so old…"

Bootstraps looked on unblinkingly, smoking his pipe, saying nothing.

"A few years ago, I would have never thought I'd be where I am today. I was so naïve; I thought I would stay with my mother in her employer's family's house until I was old enough to marry a man of stable career. A farmer, or something. I never thought I'd be here with two children that aren't even mine, working for barely enough wages for one person… it seemed so different." Fantine babbled on in a wavering voice. "It was so funny, these, girls, they probably knew better French than I do, and four other languages, and they can do arithmetic, they could do anything and they were the same age as me. I can't even write home to my mother to see if she has died or not… I…" It was at this moment that Fantine put her head in her hands and doubled over, her long, matted hair falling in a dark curtain around her face. Bootstraps set his pipe down on the tableside him and stood up to swathe her in an embrace. She leaned her head against his chest, and he felt the warm stain of tears against his shirt.

"Oh, I hate crying,' she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, "It's so silly. Silly girls who don't have any spines and faint all the time… I hate them, and I'm turning into one." she turned away.

Bootstraps was kneeling next the chair she was in, and put a hand on her back. "Silly girls are spoiled and don't know what true pain is, Fantine. We're a different breed, you and me. We have to put in 160 percent when everyone else is only putting in 75. We have a heavy load on our shoulders, and there's not much a chance of it getting any lighter, or even staying the same. But we soldier on anyway, because there's no point in turning back to the past and complaining that it's not as easy as we thought it would be, and because sometimes is forward the only way we can go, other than down the road of hate. And people like you and me can't cling on to hate, you and I both know how it twists a man until he's nothing but evil. Yer gonna see hundreds more of those schoolgirls, Fantine, and ye hav't remember the things that separate you from them. Guts, hardship, toil, and hope." He paused. "Thinkin' about all the things ye've had to go through these few years, I'd reckon yer entitled a good cry. We won't tell anyone."

Fantine turned towards him with red eyes, and wiped them once more. "How is it," she said, "that in hoping, you manage to stand strong against the storm, when others shrink away into darkness?"

"Hope is the only thing I have left," he replied helplessly. Fantine rested her head upon his shoulder, and he touched her mussed hair with shaking hands. In a single, fleeting moment, she lifted her head up, and brushed her lips against his. Bill, against his own good sense, closed his eyes and held a little tighter to the back of her head and right shoulder. Inexperienced, curious, Fantine kissed the corners of his mouth, shakily stroking the square corners of his jaw covered in dark stubble. He pulled her closer to him, causing her slowly slide off her chair onto the wooden floor. Her grip on him grew tighter when he sunk in his fingertips in her waist, and Bill sensed their actions growing faster as adrenaline began to flow through him. Bill swallowed, and finally listened to his conscience, pulling away. Fantine blushed, pulling her knees up her chest, looking down.

"I'm a pirate, Fantine, I'm not a good man. 'S a bad idea to be getting caught up with pirates, ye can't trust their actions, and soon ye'll find yerself in more trouble then ye think yer already in. Besides," he stood up, "I've already got a girl and a son back home, and I'm determined…" he drifted off, putting a hand on his head and looking around.

"You're determined not to do what Jack does," Fantine finished monotonically. "Do you love them?"

"With all me heart." He looked down at her.

"I wish I loved like you do, Bootstraps."

"Someday, you will." He offered a hand, and her helped her up. "I'll take ye back to yer room now."

Fantine nodded. Bootstrap put out the fire, and Fantine went to get the blankets she had been meaning to get earlier. He followed her up the stairs, and when he reached his room, he turned back to her.

"I suppose I'll see you in the morning?"

"Bright and early."

"Alright then," she said, "goodnight." She made to walk down the hallway, but turned back. "Bootstraps?"

He leaned out the doorway.

"You… you said that I couldn't trust you, because you're a pirate. Well, I think you're a better man than any pious man of rank in the Caribbean, and I think… every man has a little something to learn from you."

Bootstraps smiled at her, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Goodnight, Fantine."

"Goodnight." He watched her shuffle down the hallway and turn the corner, the candlelight fading away with her. With a smile, Bootstraps shut the door, and turned to prepare for tomorrow's adventures, and, despite himself, hoping in the end everything would turn out right.

* * *

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	10. Fanciful Thinking

**Author's Note: **Okey-dokey. I was actually going to make this into a giant Christmas segment, but I've discovered if I put it all on one chapter it will be about the size of the state of Alaska. So here's the end of chapter eleven. There may be some typos, sorry.

* * *

Caribbean Decembers were very different from those of the Decembers in Paris. 

It was an hour before dawn on the tidy beaches of New Antoine. Fantine sat by the shore with her feet buried in two mounds of sand, and listened to the waves, as she had taken to doing several times a week. The beaches were too busy during the day; they were filled with fishermen with eyes as gaping as those of the heads of the fish they had caught. Robert stood a few feet away, picking up shells and bringing them to her. Robert was now at the age that he would often scurry on ahead of her when she walked to pick up something interesting, hurry over to his mother, give it to her, and bustle on ahead. Most of the time they were rocks and sticks and the occasional fish head, but sometimes he would find something rather diverting from whatever she had on her mind.

Today Fantine's mind was not with her. Her mother had been in her thoughts for the past few weeks, just after Fantine had been trying to prepare a special stew her mother used to make in Paris. It had occurred to Fantine that, when people said daughters grow into their mothers, they weren't lying. Fantine realized that at the age of nearly 17, the time when most girls would be busy finishing school and finding husbands to make a life with, Fantine had taken on a job just as hard as any middle-aged peasant woman's in Vierge Harbor. Not only was she practically the manager of the inn, but she also was busy raising two children on her own… two spilled mugs of beer on a previously clean wooden floor that she had to mop up.

Oh, but Fantine would never think of her children as any sort of misfortunes: no, she loved Robert and Erin with all her soul. They were the only family she had left, as far as she was concerned. After all, was it really logical to hope for once again joining her mother- who had been ill the last time she saw her- after so many years? It was foolish to put on the horse's blinder that was optimism; Fantine wasn't as stupid as people assume lower-class to be. She knew at least one thing for certain- in this day and age, a working-class woman at middle-age who overworked herself to the point of illness wasn't likely to survive the rough, unforgiving, white-capped rapids that were the cobblestone streets of Paris. In reality, her mother had probably died shortly after Fantine had been taken, without enough strength and without enough money to earn medicine for wellness. A sense of morbidity came upon Fantine like a dark thundercloud as she understood her mother had probably died some years ago, alone, penniless, in some grave- hopefully marked. Maybe- maybe she could go and see what became of her mother, the sweet, selfless woman- if she earned enough money, she could take Robert and Erin back to Paris, and she could say goodbye to her mother, and maybe move out to the country somewhere where people would look at her so much with harsh, assuming eyes and snubbing civility in their tones.

But such thoughts were fancy. Where could she earn enough money for three tickets for a passage back to Paris, and from then where could she find the money to support her family happily? She could barely support herself now. To achieve almost any dream, somewhere along the way a considerable deal of money is involved, and for Fantine, to achieve any dream right now, one would… one would have to be….

"A pirate." Fantine murmured coldly to herself.

A pirate. Fantine felt something like a slimy, cold snail slither into her gut. It was the thing that had torn her away from a humble, somewhat promising life and hurled her into a life of Torments: like Sisyphus, always pushing a cumbersome rock uphill, but never really getting anywhere; chained to the very thing that had brought her to this slippery slope. Piracy. It was true, to hope to rejoin her mother and live happily was almost as fanciful as hoping that her would-be husband would come home and support her instead of simple adding another weight onto the stone and leave her to push on uphill. She was tired of fancy.

"Mama!" Robert cried, running over. Fantine loved the way toddlers- especially Robert- ran. It was more of an excited waddling.

"What is it, my duckie?" Fantine said in French. She wanted him to know both English and French; she just didn't know if it was right to teach him the languages at the same time or consecutively. Robert took Fantine's hand and dropped something into it, then ran back in the direction he came from. Fantine looked down and opened her hand. It was a string of beads: fourteen or fifteen of them, all different colors and designs, and one very large coin fastened at the end. They were familiar. Yes, she couldn't mistake these beads, especially that coin, with the skull on its face.

It was Jack's.

Fantine dashed after Robert, where she could make out a spot on the horizon. Quickly, she swept her boy under her arm, picked up her skirts, and ran as quickly as she could to whatever was by the shore.

As she approached, she could see it was something standing up- no, it might be two things, something flat next to whatever was coming out of the water. When she reached her destination, Fantine's suspicions were confirmed. A man, soaking, stood before her, bare feet planted in sand. A sea turtle, wrapped in some sort of rope, floated expectantly beside him.

"Jack?" She cried incredulously.

"'Ello, love-" he panted, wobbling, "Fancy meeting you on this fine Caribbean morning…." It was about all he could say before he collapsed tiredly to the sandy floor. Fantine knelt down to help him; he had gone unconscious and had a cold, clammy feeling to him. Fantine looked up at the turtle, still floating somewhat expectantly near her. After a second, the turtle ducked his head under, turned around, and disappeared into the tide.

"Fancy that," Fantine murmured.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The one thing about New Antoine that annoyed Fantine to no end was the fact that it was heavily guarded and very conservative. She felt she was already pressing her luck in residing in such a "safe" harbor, and now she was dragging a soaking wet man with long dreads and beaded beard with obvious tattoos all over his person into the port where easily panicked and ultra-protective islanders lived didn't make things any better. She had to stop two boys running by to purchase a wheelbarrow they had with them, giving them two halfpence if they would help push the wheelbarrow to the inn. The boys did not inquire of the strange man curled up hiding under a blanket; why should they, for two halfpence? That was the promise of being young and innocent- naivety.

Since last year, Mrs. Stew's cough had gotten worse. In the past few months, Fantine had noticed a few flecks of blood in her handkerchief, even though Mrs. Stew tried to hide it. Mrs. Stew huskily shrugged it off, saying it was just the cold and by spring she'll be as fine as the customers were numerous, but all the same she had been bestowing more responsibility onto Fantine. The other workers at the inn were dull and common, but Fantine was sharp and precise. So, within the past month or two, Mrs. Stew had given her a raise, allowing her to purchase a small cottage-like shack near the inn that Mrs. Stew had been keeping on the side for guests.

She hid him in the room next to hers. Paying through the nose for a room for Jack would be considerably more expensive, but would in the end be safer as well. Honestly, who wouldn't be suspicious of a 17-year-old girl- supposedly unmarried- hiding a strange man with a dubious "P" tattoo blatantly displayed on his wrist? To put him in a hospital would be too expensive: and risky. The doctors of New Antoine didn't normally tend to commoners such as herself for a reasonable price, and they _especially_ didn't serve pirates and criminals. Not in New Antoine, not anywhere. In the end, hiding him in the inn would be the best choice.

In the past two years at the inn, Fantine had learned a thing or two about medicines. She had already possessed a sufficient amount of knowledge from her work with Freia at the church in Vierge Harbor, and Mrs. Stew made sure all of her employees were equipped with proper know-how when it came to expensive matters such as doctoring. It was bad for business when a seaman wasn't feeling too well and Mrs. Stew had to send one of the serving girls to fetch a doctor for a housecall. Fantine's prior knowledge of medicines helped her earn a higher position above the other girls at the inn; Mrs. Stew trusted her more. BY keeping a pirate in the inn, she was risking not only her position and job, but her citizenship at New Anoine. Nobody wanted a scanty unmarried mother of two questionable children around if she was going to be hiding shady potential criminals in an allegedly "safe" area. What the citizens of New Antoine failed to realize was that there _is_ no absolutely "safe" area- evil lurks in every dark recess because there is always a dark recess available in the heart of every man for evil to lurk in. Ignorance, to the people of New Antoine and to Fantine's great annoyance, was truly bliss.

After a few hours, Jack's fever died down. He slept peacefully through the afternoon, and Fantine went back to work, but around the evening when Fantine checked in on him, he was cold and clammy. She had been soaking a rag in warm water when he began to speak.

"I need blood," he groaned.

Fantine stopped. "What?"

"I don't have any blood in me. He took it all."

"Who did?"

"You know him. Everybody knows him. He's the devil, I know it. He's the Bloodtaker. I told him he could have my blood if he let me live, and he did, but now I don't have any blood. Do you have any blood?"

"Jack, you're ill-"

"Listen to me! I _need_ this blood. Couldn't you find someone with some extra blood to give?"

"You have plenty of blood, Jack."

"No, you don't understand! I don't have _any!_ Please," he pleaded, grabbing her by the shoulders. She didn't think he knew the strength of his own grip at the moment; it was beginning to hurt her arms. "I'm begging you. I'll do anything. I'll pay you! Five hundred silver pieces!"

"You are not safe, Jack. Let me fetch you some medicine-"

"Please," he begged, his brown eyes bulging in a surreal way, "I don't need medicine, I need blood. If you have a heart, please!"

"Alright, Jack," she said, uncertainly, "I'll get you some blood. But you need to rest."

"Thank you," he pulled her into an ambrace. Fantine tensed up, unused to the action. He smelled… nice.

He smelled nice? What?

"Thank you so much."

"….You're welcome, Jack."

He continued to hold her for a moment longer, and he said quietly, "You are very beautiful."

Fantine pulled away. She gently laid him down and put the warm rag on his head until his breathing became slow and his temples relaxed. He still had her hand in his, and when she was sure he was asleep, she carefully pulled it out, took one last worried look at him, and went down to serve dinner to the guests.

As she was carrying a tray of chicken to a table, Mrs. Stew stopped her.

"What was the purpose of Anne taking half your shift, Fantine?"

"One of our guests wasn't feeling too well, Madame. I was making sure he was alright."

"Which guest?"

"A Monsieur Smith, Madame. He just signed in."

"Is this the same Mr. Smith who checked in about a year ago with another sailor and your baby?"

Fantine faltered. She was onto her. "I…"

Mrs. Stew leaned forward. "Don't think I don't see what's going on in my inn. As long as there's money paid for him being here, I won't say anything, but if I see one hint of trouble, he's out of here."

Fantine bowed her head. "Yes, Madame."

"I gave you a job and a roof over your head, young Miss Pascal, and you've been very good help, but if your think you can abuse my trust, I can take it away just as easily."

"I'm sorry, Madame."

"Go," Mrs. Stew resorted to a fit of coughs and pulled out a handkerchief. There were flecks of blood at the corner of her mouth. Fantine said nothing about this; she didn't want to make Mrs. Stew even more upset. So, she picked up the tray and delivered the food, just as ordered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Robert, come here. It's time to eat."

"What are we having, mama?"

"Chicken and carrots."

"I don't want carrots."

"I thought you liked carrots."

"No. I hate carrots!" he ran around the room in circles, yelling. "I hate carrots! I hate carrots! I hate carrots!"

"Shhh, quiet. You'll disturb the guests."

"Who's that man in the room next door, mama?"

"What?"

"I heard you talking to him."

Fantine paused. What should she say? Should she tell him he was his father? Would he be able to understand? Should she lie? "Eat your dinner, Robert."

Robert obeyed, sitting down and poking at his carrots.

"And don't play with your food."

"I hate carrots!"

Fantine went into the room next door with some more blankets and a bottle of tonic. She set the blankets down on a chair, took a spoon and poured the tonic into a mixture she had set on the table.

"I hope that's rum in that mug." Jack's voice came from behind her. Fantine turned to see him looking at her with calm brown eyes from the bed. She turned back, secretly relieved he wasn't raving anymore.

"You don't need any rum. Not in the state that you're in."

"Me mum- God rest her soul- used to say that rum is the best medicine for the heart."

Fantine carried the tonic over to his bed. "I really don't think you even knew who your mother was at all, Captain Sparrow."

Jack smiled wearily, his gold teeth glistening in the warm candlelight. "You are correct in saying so." He tried to sit up, weakly.

"No no, don't sit up. You're still too weak. Here, drink this-" she handed him the medicine. He chugged it down, then gagged.

"That's _definitely_ not rum."

"It's better than rum for you," she said sternly.

Jack looked at her. Her accent was still terribly thick; he could barely understand what she was saying. Actually, now that he thought of it, he probably understood her more when he was drunk than now. It had appeared over the past year that Fantine's breasts- or lack of, anyway- had grown just a little bit. It could have been the candlelight playing tricks with his eyes, but they didn't seem quite so much like mosquito bites anymore. Seeing this gave him a strange happiness: his little girl bride was growing up.

"It's good to see ye again, lass." He said.

"Mama?" a little boy's voice came from the door. "Who is that man?"

Jack pulled himself up tiredly to see around Fantine. It was a dark-headed little boy with almond-shaped amethyst eyes, pointing straight at him. How rude.

"Oh," Fantine looked back at Jack, nervous. "Why, Robert, this… this is… ah…"

"Why, don't you recognize me, Robert?" Jack said, his voice rough and scratchy, making the boy jump back a bit, "I'm yer father!"

"Father?" Robert echoed, delighted. It was a strange and mysterious title- like Santa Claus.

"Aye, I'm yer ol' dad," Jack patted his knee, and the little boy came running excitedly to him.

"Oh God," Fantine put her hand to her head.

* * *

**Author's Not-So-Occasional Nagging for Reviews: **Seriously now. If I don't have reviews, I don't know if I'm doing well, or if I should even keep going with this story. Please review. Even the occcasional "man, your grammar is SO whacked up!" helps. Please? I'll give you a cookie! 


	11. In Which Captain Jack Tells a Story

**Author's Very Brief and Somewhat Awkward Note: **Yup.

* * *

"_Le bonbon à bébé, _

_dorment doucement la vie est long et aime _

_est temps profond sera doux pour le thee _

_tout le monde à voir que l'heur de regarder _

_autour et savoir _

_savent que les ombres viennent disparaître _

_comment la brise remue les arbres comment _

_les fleurs se développent…"_

Jack could hear her singing in the other room. She was putting Erin and Robert to sleep, he supposed. Jack sat, twiddling his thumbs, looking around restlessly. He had never been one to settle down and sit still: not with women, not at home, not here. He made an attempt to pull his sheets aside ad get up weakly, trying out his legs. They worked fine. He slowly made his way about the room, grasping onto things if he started to wobble. Jack really didn't think this was from sickness- it was from not having alcohol in his system for a long period of time. He was worse at walking when he was sober than he was drunk.

"You shouldn't be up!" Fantine entered, and went to help him.

"I'm not an old man," Jack shrugged her off.

"Fine. Suit yourself." Fantine sat down near him and began to mend a shirt. Was it his? Another guest's? Robert's? No, it was too large for a boy. Was it another man's? "So tell me, Captain, how you conveniently happened upon the beach the other day whilst I was taking my walk."

God, her accent was awful. He thought it had gotten worse. "Has your accent gotten worse?"

Fantine blushed. "I… I haven't been… that's none of your business!"

"It is too my business, if I'm going to tell you how I got here."

"Just tell me." Fantine went back to mending. "And where's Bootstrap?" She looked up again with a strange look on her face. Hope? "Shouldn't he be with you? I mean, he is normally with you, no?"

Jack stared down at the floor. He hadn't thought about it really since he had been at sea. There was an odd sense of anger that welled up inside of him now that normally wasn't there when he thought about Bootstrap.

"Mutiny," was all he could think of at the moment.

Fantine leaned forward. "What… what is this word?"

"Mutiny," Jack said grimly, "It's when yer crew rises up against you and stabs ye in the back when ye least expect it."

"And… and did this happen to you?"

"Aye. Barbossa… do you remember him?"

"He is… he is the one with the large nose? The one who likes apples."

"Aye. That's the one. 'E was my first mate, and, due to a number of unfortunate circumstances, 'e'd managed to turn the crew against me. We were heading for the Isle d'Muerte when 'e stopped the boat and the crew made me walk the plank."

"No!"

"I swam to a deserted island nearby… it was one of our old rum stores. I need some, by the way."

"You'll get no such thing."

"Lass, a man needs 'is rum in life. This isn't exactly a pleasant story for me-"

"Fine. I'll see if I can find some if you finish the story."

Jack settled back. So stories were her weak spot. He could come up with a few stories…. "Anyway, I stayed there for about three days, until all manner of sea creatures came into my presence." He flailed his arms about eccentrically. Fantine watched, bewildered and wide-eyed. "Until one day, lassoed myself a couple of sea turtles, lashed 'em together, and made a raft." Jack turned around, his legs still a bit wobbly. "It is from there," he said, grabbing onto a wall for support, "that I washed ashore on the beaches of New Antoine- to your welcoming doorstep, my dear." He took her hand, and kissed it.

Fantine pulled away. "You're just feeding me a bunch of tripe," she said, disgusted, "You know that's a lie!"

"It is not," Jack said, feigning indignant.

"What then, Captain," Fantine looked at him severely over the table that separated them, "did you manage to use for rope?"

Jack paused. "Oh," he said, thinking quickly. "Human hair…" he said mysteriously.

Fantine raised her eyebrows at Jack's dirty head of deadlocks. (She couldn't raise just one… she'd been trying at it in her spare time, at the expense of passerby who thought she was a loony.)

"…From my back." Jack finished.

Despite herself, Fantine chuckled. "Erin's asleep now. I'm going to finish up work and go to bed. If you're going to be walking about, do not make too much noise; you will wake the guests."

Jack nodded, settling himself in a chair and propping his feet up on the desk. As Fantine turned to go, Jack got up noisily. "Oh, lass, I almost fogot…" she turned. "Rum." He said plainly, indicating the empty mug. Fantine rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"If you're not going to get it, I'll get it myself." Jack grabbed his coat, hat, and mug, and walked towards the door.

"Why do you walk that way?" Fantine inquired.

"What way?"

"That way. You walk as a woman does."

"I do not!" There was no feigning indignant now. "I've always walked this way."

Fantine shook her head. He hadn't walked that way before. Before he had walked up straight, head erect, arms swinging from side to side- like a soldier. Now, when Jack walked, he sort of tiptoed about in a wonky line, his arms swinging about like broken windmill sails. It was actually pretty comical to look it. What had happened that made him do that? But it wasn't just his walk… it was the way he looked at things too. There was something different about Jack: when she spoke to him, it was like it took a moment or two for him to register that she was there; like she was some sort of spectre. It worried Fantine a little bit. Maybe it was just the absence of rum and a rocking boat in his system that made him this way.

Or maybe not.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Fantine finished up work, she head sleepily upstairs, yawning. When she passed by Jack's room, she heard voices. Her first thought was that it was Lucy, the newest addition to the employee list. At first sight, one got the impression that Lucy wasn't the brightest tavern girl, but she was a hard worker and compliantly took whatever pay she got without question. But after a few days, Lucy came in late on a Tuesday morning with pieces of straw in her hair and on her clothes. Mister Bartlett, a bald-headed merchant who often stayed in New Antoine to trade during the season, had a satisfied and jovial twinkle in his eye as he took his breakfast that morning, giving occasional remarks like, "Jolly good service you have here, Missus Stew, jolly good service indeed! What a sanguine porridge!" At the inward question of whether or not the adjective "sanguine" should be used to describe porridge, Fantine had gone to the stables that day to feed some of the horses, when she found a ghastly and rather disturbing mess strewn all over the floor, and the horses in a terrible frenzy in their stalls. She didn't ask any questions… she really didn't want to know.

When she checked in on the children, she saw Erin sleeping peacefully in her crib, but Robert gone. Fantine quickly opened the door to Jack's room, finding Robert sitting cross-legged on the floor and Jack doing some kind of strange dance.

"And then they made me their chief… oh!" he said, a little taken aback. "'Ello there, lass."

"Robert! You shouldn't be up at this hour!"

"Father was telling me of the Gorgolon tribe on island Mikee Moosa!" Robert cried excitedly. "What happened after that, Father?"

"The very worse. You see, the Gorgolons were actually cannibals, and they believed-"

"Mama," Robert turned around, "What's a cannibal?"

"Maybe when you're a bit older," Fantine picked him up underneath her arm and carried him like a load of potatoes. "For now it's time for good boys to go to bed."

"Mama!"

"Yes?"

"What's a cannibal?"

"Robert…"

"Mama!... What's a cannibal?"

"It's a word for a person who doesn't like carrots." Jack finished.

"I'm a cannibal!" Robert cried happily.

"Robert!" Fantine clapped a hand over his mouth, putting him in his bed.

"I don't want to go to bed! I'm a cannibal!" He bounced up and down in his bed. "I'm a Gorgolon cannibal! I'm a Gorgolon cannibal!"

"Thank you, Captain." Fantine glared in Jack's direction.

"Now listen, Bobby," Jack knelt down. "I can only finish the story if you promise to go to bed after, savvy?"

"What does savvy mean?"

"It's what men of yer father's profession say when they mean 'agreed'."

"The why don't you just say agreed?"

"Because savvy sounds better, savvy? Now listen. I can only finish the story if you promise to go to bed after. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"Good. Now, back to the cannibals. A cannibal is not something ye want to be, Bobby, so don't go saying it to yer mates. Carrots are good fer ye, and don't give yer mum any trouble. I personally love carrots."

"You do?" Robert wrinkled his nose.

"I do. I crave 'em. Can't get enough of 'em. The problem was that the Gorgolon people hated carrots. So you can imagine when I asked for some carrots, they were considerably shocked. A chief of the Gorgolons shouldn't like carrots! But I told 'em that carrots helped yer eyes and turned yer skin a lovely shade of orange. So they agreed to give it a try. But they would only do it if they had carrots in a stew. And what better stew to eat than a stew with the chief in it?"

"What?" Robert said.

"What?!" Fantine said.

"That's what I said. But the Gorgolons believed stew is best prepared when the chief is boiled with it."

"That's terrible!" Robert cried.

"Really, Jack, I do think that is a bit gruesome-"

"That's what I said. But there was no talking them out of it. Now, obviously the price of introducing carrots into the Gorgolons' diet was high, but not so high as to match it with my own life. So, I wove a plan to outwit them. I had one friend on the island, and his name was Meency-Weency."

"Meency-Weency!" Robert laughed.

"Aye. Meency-Weency. Meency-Weency was the only Gorgolon on the island who liked carrots. But secretly. He had been trying to grow a big carrot farm for years, but couldn't because he could only do it at night in the dark in a secluded area. He had managed to grow a decent garden, but not enough to satisfy a hungry man for a whole season. He also liked me a lot and didn't plan on preparing Captain-Jack-Sparrow-stew any time soon… and enjoying it, anyway. So, Meency-Weency and I made a fake dummy of myself, clothes and everything, and filled it with carrots and leftover sticks. We tied it up to a giant chair, and covered the face, arms, and legs in carrots. It made sense: since I was going into a stew with carrots, why not marinate the entire thing together? So once we had finished the dummy, we marinated him up and prepared a boat for myself. As the fake Jack was being thrown into the stew, Meency-Weency had prepared a boat for me to escape on, filled with the leftover carrots. He made me promise to come back again one day with different carrot seeds from all over the world in return for his services. I hear that after the Gorgolons found out that the stew was not made up of chief meat, but all carrots, they weren't all that angry. In fact, they really liked it. I hear they're trying to grow the largest carrot farm now by sending carrot traders all over the world. And that," Jack bowed, "is how I outwitted the wily cannibalistic Gorgolons."

Fantine and Robert clapped, grinning. "That was a wonderful story," Robert yawned.

"Yes, and now it's time for you to go to bed." Fantine kissed Robert on the forehead, and tucked him in. "Good night, Robert."

"Good night, Mama. Good night, Father."

"Night, lad." Jack closed the door and sauntered into his room, plopping down on the chair. Fantine followed.

"I do not mind when you tell him stories, Jack, it is good for him. But please… just take it a tone down."

"'E's a smart lad. I've never seen smarter. 'E literally has the vocabulary of someone three times 'is age."

"Yes, but smart little boys need to learn there's a line between fantasy and reality."

"That story wasn't fantasy."

Fantine gave him a look.

"Well, I mean, obviously the part about the carrots was a lie, I hate all vegetables, but the basic plotline is true."

"I don't think you're telling me the truth."

"I'm surprised you can't trust me. I _am_ a dishonest man, but it's the dishonest ones you can trust, because you can always trust them to be honest."

"Well then, Captain, how did the story really go?"

Jack lowered his tri-corner hat over his eyes and crossed his boots. "Several years back, when I was still relatively a young man, a got shipwrecked on this island. Through a series of complicated and long-winded events, I landed as the chief of the Gorgolons. It was after I became chief that I learned the islanders were cannibalistic, as was the custom of many of the tribes on that spit of islands. For various spiritual and economical reasons, the Gorgolons wished to eat me alive. I did have one person loyal to me, and he looked rather like me. He said he had wished to return to his ancestors for a long time, and that to die for me would be an honor. So I dressed him up like myself, painted his face in the traditional chief paint, and put him a throne to be carried. He gave me a bone from a necklace of his that he wore to his death. It might have been a tooth or something, I can't remember. While he was thrown into the fire, a managed to escape with a boat we had prepared. And that," he said grimly, "is how I _really_ outwitted the wily cannibalistic Gorgolons."

Fantine said nothing. She just dusted around a bit. She still didn't believe him.

"Do you want to see the bone he gave me?" Jack pulled out one of the many trinkets he kept on several strings around his neck. He rarely took it off. Fantine came closer, like a moth to a flame. "That one, there. That was his bone." Fantine ran her finger over it. "Well, not literally_ his_ bone, but the bone he gave to me."

"Oh, Jack," she said, "I'm… I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"You can always trust a dishonest man, I told you."

"And… and I'm sorry you lost you friend. Really. I should not have brought it up. Here, I'll go fetch you some rum before I go to bed." She turned at the door, and smiled. "it was a good story."

Jack smiled to himself as he listened to her go down the stairs. It hadn't been a loyal Gorgolon man, but a woman. When he became chief, the Gorgolons bestowed many prizes upon him, including a harem of sorts. But the one untouchable thing was the high priestess, Ansomi. The whole idea of having a priestess _and_ a chief to talk to the gods was a bit superfluous in Jack's opinion, but he had never been one to criticize the customs of other cultures- especially those that circulated around beautiful women. But, since Ansomi was the only thing keeping the gods from destroying the island and the humans with it, she could not be touched- she would remain chaste for the gods forever. But wily Jack never let trivial matters such as keeping chastity for angry gods bother him- just like he never let stealing that case of Aztec gold bother him. Cursed? Humbug. He and Ansomi embarked on a passionate affair, until they were found out by one of the eunuchs. Enraged, the Gorgolons set out to murder the two before anything worse happened. Jack had prepared a boat that would take them back to the English colonies, but Ansomi insisted on staying and burning, for the gods would be even angrier that the priestess left the island they had chosen for her and would send a plague of destruction after the lovers if they stayed together. Jack was far out at sea when they finally found Ansomi. He knew that she would be burned for her crimes, and not eaten, so her soul would be forever in torments on the earth. So, Ansomi gave a bone from her necklace to Jack, saying that he would keep a piece of her soul with him always, and she could roam the earth with him- wherever he went.

And that was how he outwitted the cannibalistic Gorgolons- at the expense of a woman's life. He wasn't proud of it. But he couldn't tell that to Fantine. She wouldn't let him in this inn ever again. She wouldn't let him on this island ever again. He was sure he could find someone else to take care of his children, but for some reason Fantine just… worked. She knew a lot for such a young age. For all her homeliness, her wisdom was very… becoming.

Was it?

"Here's your rum, Captain," Fantine entered with a mug. "Please, don't take too much of it. You're not the only guest in this inn who's fond of the drink. Get some rest, and don't go into the stables in the morning. Today is Monday."

Jack chose not to ask Fantine to further expound on the statement, instead settling back in his chair and taking a swig of rum.

"Oh, and Captain," Fantine poked her head inside the door. "Christmas is coming up in a few days. Usually Mrs. Stew hosts a little party here at the inn; it's local, but usually it is just the staff. It is very enjoyable. Good night."

Jack nodded, glancing at the bone on his necklace. Then, he took a long-awaited drink.

* * *

**Author's Not-So-Brief-as-Aforesaid-but-Nonetheless-Awkward After-Story Note: **I should mention that a drunken undead monkey can use better grammar than I, so apologies on my part. I also realize that the French is a tad off, but I am not fluent in French and the two-bit translators are my only source of hope to give depth to Fantine's... Frenchyness, if that makes any sense. Which is probably doesn't. Oh, bother it all. Pleas review. I need reivews like Jack needs a drink. And thank you all for reviewing so generously; I hope you like where this story is going. Keep looking for the next chapter coming up soon, muses permitting and pirate attacks pending.

Anotherblastedromantic


	12. Christmas

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to give a warm thanks to all of you readers for your support. Really, this chapter was supposed to come two months sooner, hance the title "Christmas", but your patience and great reviews have led me to finally finish this chapter! Woo! Actually, I might add on a bit at the end, because I don't know if it will exactly fit int he beginning of the next chapter.

On that note, a question suddenly dawned on me the other day: is Pirates of the Caribbean based more in the 1776-American-Revolution timeframe, or the 1789-French-Revolution timeframe? Although I'm sort of leanign towards 1776, in this chapter I say it's 1789. Tell me what you think.

And finally, a lot of you spotted that Fantine is the name of one of the main characters in Les Miserables. Good for you. For fun, I included some more names from Les Miserables, as well as A Tale of Two Cities. I'm sort of going for that French Revolution flare. See if you can point them out. Keep reading!

* * *

Fantine looked at her sad little reflection in the mirror. She was standing sideways, taking deep breaths in an attempt to make the pathetic plane that was her lack of bosom seem so… well, not-lacking. She inhaled from her nose, she took deep breaths from her mouth, but nothing seemed to work. Fantine had sat down yesterday on her break to feed Erin via bottle, when Lucy sauntered by, and stared down her little curved nose at Fantine, who looked warily up at her. 

"Oh," she had said, "I thought babies that young were supposed to be breastfed. You don't breastfeed her?" Fantine was trying to silently glare at the tart, but she couldn't make eye contact with her: there were two big, perfectly round things blocking her way. At Fantine's silence, Lucy shrugged, pressing her arms closer to her- which in turn made her cleavage look two times deeper than it already was- and sauntered away with swishing skirts. Fantine glared contemptuously after her, for she was just as ample in the hind quarters as she was in the front. It was a wonder how the lass was able to see her shoes, her bosom was so full. That would explain Lucy's poor sweeping and mopping skills; she couldn't see the floor. It didn't matter anyhow, since Fantine usually was left to clean up after her. The sad thing was that after Fantine was finished _not_ breastfeeding Erin, she would have to go and clean the stables- something she dreaded more than usual, because the Christmas season often brought out rather high spirits in Mr. Bartlett, as could be seen by the glint in his beady eye and the tightness in his britches. He disappeared half an hour early today. The good news was that after this, he would be in an extremely optimistic mood when he would eat the Christmas breakfast tomorrow, and the Benevolent Spirit of Christmas would fill him. Perhaps he would leave a fat tip for Fantine tomorrow in addition to her Christmas bonus. Take that, Mademoiselle Lucy.

Still, it didn't help that Fantine still hadn't gone through any big womanly changes like the other girls her age. She often watched them as they passed by in their fine coats laced with fur- somewhat superfluous in the Caribbean weather- a delicate line of cleavage balancing on the straight line of a lace-trim collar. In 1789, square, low-cut collars that amplified the cleavage were in vogue. Well, Fantine had never been one to care about what was in vogue anyway. So, as she stood before her mirror, trying desperately to amplify her cleavage in the delicate gown she had made for herself, she decided that the only person who should care about a girl's bosom was her husband, and when she actually wore the dress her husband would probably be too drunk to tell a wife from a broomstick.

Fantine stopped breathing in deeply and took off the dress, gingerly folding it and putting it back in her drawer. She donned her work clothes, and crossed to Jack's room, putting her ear to the door. She could hear voices inside.

"The most interesting thing about the captain's dog was that it had three ears. It could turn its ears in different directions, so that it could listen to the ocean on all three sides. The dog would sit up in the crow's nest next to the watchman, all three ears pricked up, and when it heard the waves crashing against the sides of a boat, it would bark to let the captain know a ship was nearby."

"Mama won't let me get a dog."

"Yer mum won't let you get a _two_-eared dog."

"Well where can I get a three-dog?"

"They're very hard to find. Most of them are up in Norway."

"Where is Norway, Father?"

Fantine passed by the door and headed downstairs. There had been a lot of excitement, since a new guest had just arrived an hour ago. Jean Foulon was a French lawyer for a somewhat provincial merchant business sent out from Paris to an island near New Antoine starting a new sugar plantation. His mission was to make a contract with the managers of the exports before the East India Trading Company did. Everybody knew it, but nobody said it- the East India Trading Company spread like a plague over the trade business- anybody who didn't work for it soon succumbed to their will, or their business died. There simply wasn't any room for individual marketing anymore, only anarchy in the market. And anarchy doesn't mix at all well with piracy.

"I am glad to be out of France, though," Foulon said, wearily sitting down with a glass of ale next to the fireplace, "The weather here is beautiful in December, and it is quite peaceful in comparison to the dreadful conditions Paris has been in these days."

"Tell me, monsieur," Fantine said in French, leaning in to him, "What news comes from Paris?"

"You don't know?" Foulon raised his eyebrows at her. "No, I suppose you don't. France is in the midst of a revolution. And a bloody one at that. Why, I was lucky to leave Paris alive; several weeks before I left there had been a peasant uprising at the Bastille."

"The Bastille!" Fantine remembered walking by the huge building many times. It seemed so far away now….

"King Louis and his foreign wife sit atop the throne, eating cakes while the peasants starve," he said bitterly, "bloodshed is bound to happen."

"That's terrible!" she cried.

"I think it is wonderful," he said romantically, "We live in a time of revolution and promise. The only way to move is forward, mademoiselle! The whole concept of a king is a man who takes care of his people, and the fat piglet who sits on our throne at the moment is no king. Now is the time for change! Can you imagine what good will come from this? Why, in time, we might not even need a king anymore! Imagine it: democracy! True freedom! The Americans had their revolution, why can't we?"

"It wouldn't be the best thing for you to talk of the American Revolution here, monsieur," Fantine said in a hushed tone, "There are many honest British citizens here, and do not hesitate to convict on the smallest sign of treason to the King."

"I will talk only to you then, mademoiselle," he smiled. "You will be my confidante in politics."

Fantine grinned back. Jean Foulon had one of those beaming smiles that lit up a room and made you feel compelled to return the gesture. He was dark-headed, with long hair he kept back in a ribbon and clear blue eyes that sparkled like the morning sun on the sea. Like Bootstraps Bill. Fantine felt torn- why would Bootstraps commit mutiny against Jack? He was not the sort of man to betray anyone he worked for, especially his friend. Bootstraps was loyal, and understanding. Or at least, the Bootstraps Bill she knew. Did she know him? He was, after all, a pirate. Then why did she feel so disappointed in him? Why should she care about Jack and Bootstraps?

Did she care for Bootstraps?

Did she care for Jack?

Fantine's mind drifted away for a moment to the day she had found Jack, and the night when he had been delusional. When he had held her hand so tightly and looked at her with pleading dark eyes. And she thought of him right now, telling stories to her son… their son….

No.

His son.

"Fantine!" Mrs. Stew snapped from her desk. "I don't pay you to sit for chat time with the guests! And I certainly don't give bonuses for laziness!"

"Pardon me, Madame," Foulon said, "It was my fault. I wished to speak with someone of my home country."

"Oh. Well, a customer should always be held in the highest respect when he or she chooses to…" She mumbled off to herself, coughing violently into a handkerchief, and dropping the subject. Foulon smiled, and winked at her. "I will speak with you later, Mademoiselle Confidante," he said.

Fantine smiled at him, picked up her tray, and set back to work. After an hour or so, she went up to check on Jack and Robert. Knocking on the door, she entered the room.

"Permission to enter, Captain?" she closed the door behind her.

"Permission granted, young lass."

"What happened next, Father?" Robert bounced up and down excitedly. "What happened?"

"The Fearsome Scot gave me a look as cold as ice. There's a moment in every man's life when he knows he's standing face-to-face with death. I knew this moment had come. Well, since I knew I was about to die, I figured I might as well get to know my enemy a bit better. No sense in popping off on bad terms, eh?"

Fantine had been making Jack's bed when she heard this, and turned around, eyebrows raised. Jack ignored her.

"So I said to 'im, 'Awfully nice night, isn't it, gov'ner?' And 'e replied, 'Ingreshmun.'"

"What does that mean?"

"'Ow was I supposed to know? But I figured it was a start, at least 'e was attempting conversation, so I decided to continue. I said, 'I really am sorry for spilling rum all over your skirt. It really is a nice skirt, and if ye like, I'll try to pay to get that washed out.' But I suppose that only made 'im angrier, because now he was yelling inarticulate slander at me. So I told him if he was going to throw a tantrum, he should take a deep breath and slip outside. Well, 'e did, but 'e threw me out the window first. 'E took a swing at me," he proceeded to act out the fight, swinging his fists and tripping over himself, occasionally throwing himself on the ground, pretending to be hit. He was quite a spectacle. "And I ducked. 'E took another swing, and I ducked again. Then 'e took one more swing, this time to the stomach. I ducked anyway, which landed his fist right on my nose. I stumbled back, looking for something to balance myself with. Ironically, the thing I grabbed was a frying pan. The tavern conveniently was next to a market, and we were fighting next to a little shop filled with cooking utensils. So I threw the frying pan at his head. It didn't seem to do much damage, as he still came bounding towards me. So I threw a pot at him. No good. 'E was close now, so I thought the best possible way for me to escape finally meeting Death would be to defend myself with a knife. Sadly, all the knives had been bought, and only a few spoons remained. Now, I couldn't very well stab a big man like this with a dun spoon, so I resorted to throwing the spoons as hard as I could. Amazingly, I threw a wooden stew spoon, and it seemed to stick for a moment right in the middle of his forehead, just as an arrow would stick into a target. I thought, oh God, I've stabbed a man in the forehead with a wooden spoon! The spoon fell to the ground, and I could see a large indention in the Scot's forehead. His eyes crossed a bit, and he wavered, and fell face-down at my feet. Well, I couldn't very well leave the man in the middle of the market; after all I had stabbed him in the head with a spoon. So I revived him with a bucket of water, and he presently came round. At first he couldn't remember what had happened, so explained the situation to him, and to my surprise, he started laughing about it. Apparently the man was simply having a bad day on account of bad pirating season and 'e couldn't find a good crew to sail under, and the fact that I 'ad insulted him by calling his kilt a skirt didn't do 'im any good either. But the fact that an Englishman was able to beat a Scot with a wooden spoon made 'im so tickled, 'e agreed to buy me a drink. And, after that, 'e told me where I could find the Ruby Buddha. Not only that, but I convinced 'im to sail with me crew until we had found it. And that," Captain Jack Sparrow said, sitting down at his chair and pulling his cap over his eyes, "is how I smacked Death in the face with a wooden spoon."

Fantine and Robert applauded giddily. "That was an even better story than the last!" Robert piped.

"You tell a tall tale, Captain," Fantine beamed at him. Jack gave her a gold-toothed half smile from beneath his cap.

"I've sailed to the ends of the earth and back again. My tales are as tall as they come." He seemed to drift off for a moment; his eyes grew misty, as if there were something in his tales that just _couldn't_ be told, for it went beyond the limits of the definition of a "tall tale", therefore making it too terrible to even be conceived. Fantine chose to brighten the mood by changing the subject.

"Come now, Captain, will you be dining with us tonight at the Christmas dance?" she said, standing up.

"I'm a bit tired, lass. These old bones 'ave just about reached their limit when it comes to hopping about at those dances."

"Really, Jack, you can't be older than thirty."

"Thirty is a ripe old age in many cultures. And I've certainly reached my prime when it comes to parties." He was lying through his teeth now. Even someone as little as Robert knew Jack was the sort of chap to go dancing when he got roaring drunk.

"You know, the real fun is when Madame Stew brings out her famous eggnog. She becomes a bit fond of the drink around this season, and likes to spike it with a twist of the best rum in our tavern."

Jack's ears pricked up.

"Not just a twist. Practically four bottle's worth." Fantine grinned and closed the door behind her. Now, to clean the stables.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It takes a whole day to cook a spectacular goose, maybe even two, if you have the right tools. Mrs. Stew had been on her about chatting up the gentleman guests instead of working all day and had threatened her bonus over her head more than once. However, Fantine made sure she got that Christmas bonus by doing the one thing that secured her a good position in the inn, which was to cook. She had grown up with cooking, as she was left in the kitchen as a young child while her mother cooked many fine dishes for her aristocratic employers. Being in a kitchen for that long gave Fantine a sort of primal instinct on how to cook food; just as a lion cub learns to kill its prey in time, Fantine learned how to prepare a wonderful meal in time. And every year, the Christmas goose was Fantine's _coup d'tat._ For one moment, whether or not she was the brightest, prettiest, most well-read or full-chested of the staff didn't matter- everyone's attention was focused on the goose. This would be Fantine's third goose- the third time is the charm. So she was trying something new this year: she would finish the bird with a mandarin orange glaze. She had convinced Mrs. Stew to buy a few of the pricy oranges from one of the merchants; Christmas was the season for giving. Strange, that her fifteen seconds of fame would depend on a dead bird and a few spices. Fantine supposed life was sort of like that.

Some people are born great, some people achieve greatness, some have geese thrust upon them.

In addition to the goose, Fantine was preparing greens, fresh bread, potatoes, shepherd's pie, stewed plums and bread pudding to polish it off. All the cooks were rushing about the kitchen, stirring contents in pots, tasting things, and adding dashes of spice to almost everything in the room. Fantine was about to start the orange glaze when she noticed Lucy saunter in with a flurry of skirts.

"I need a pint of rum for the gentleman with the long, beaded beard." Lucy said.

"I'll get it," Fantine said. Jack had been up and walking in the past few hours; his legs had gotten considerably better, so he decided to exercise them downstairs with the other guests. And this had been his third pint in the last two hours. She would go out and talk to him about it. There was no use in him disturbing the other guests raving drunk, especially on Christmas Eve.

"No, I think he wants _me_ to get it, Fantine," Lucy said, looking round the corner at Jack, who was approaching a table of old men playing cards. "Once you get past the dirt and the rum breath, he's rather handsome," Lucy giggled, "I heard from some of the other girls that he's actually a lord or a count or something, and that he just dresses like a ruffian because he got tired of the high-society life. Do you think it's true?"

Fantine stopped squeezing the oranges to peer at Jack from behind Lucy's shoulder. "Oh, oui, mademoiselle, it might be true. However, I have cleaned his laundry, and I must say if it is true, he must not clean himself very often. Fleas all over his clothes. And, from the looks of things, it appears he might have, well, you know…."

Lucy looked blankly at her.

"You know, ah, what do you English call the word, it is… it is…" she whispered the word in Lucy's ear. Lucy drew back, her rosy cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. She pushed past her primly to fetch a pint of rum, and was gone. Fantine smiled quietly to herself. Ah, the pleasures of small comforts.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What a marvelous feast you have prepared for us, mademoiselle." Jean Foulon leaned over and beamed at her after the prayer.

"If I may, monsieur, it was not I alone who prepared it; it was a group effort."

"Still, Mademoiselle Confidante, I hope you will allow me to say this is one of the best meals I have tasted in my life." Foulon took a bite of goose. Fantine smiled down at the great, dead thing, giving silent thanks to it for not exploding somehow in the oven, and began to eat.

Jack sat across and a few seats down from Fantine. For once, he was making a very sad attempt to use the table manners he had put away in his head so long ago. Not because he wanted to impress Fantine or anything like that, Lord no, but because he feared if he didn't start acting like a "civilized" human being soon, he would surely be kicked out. He had only been out amongst people for a few hours, and already he knew some suspected foul play. As he cut into the orangey goose, Jack pondered on the irony of what the British, or rather the entire western European people deemed what was "civilized", and what was not. Due to a complicated chain of events involving a nun's outfit, a ruby Buddha, a Chinese spice trader and his short-tempered Scottish mistress, a telescope, and a pair of trained bears, Jack was once called to a trial for uncivilized conduct and read the definition of "civilization" from a dictionary aloud to a court for his defense: "_an advanced state of human society, in which a high level of culture, science, industry, and government has been reached_." Jack, in his lifespan of around 30 years, had seen many culturally modern civilizations _other_ than the ones in Britain, France, and Spain, which seemed to choke out the customs of the islanders in the Caribbean. Europeans went through commerce with a cocky arrogance about them, bullying themselves into any situation with the excuse of being "civilized". But Jack had seen things that would make the European scientists take off their powdered wigs in awe. He had seen monuments- entire mountains, they looked to be- made out of gold. Some of the finest food he had ever tasted was _not_ grown on a plantation, imported and exported from the East India Trading Company. In doing this, shying away from what people today felt was "civilized", Jack had experienced a world more spectacular and free than any man that he could have been had he not chosen piracy could have ever dreamed of. Maybe that was all there was to being a pirate- it was being free from the common, dreary life. It was freedom. But you would never find _that_ in a dictionary.

"What are you thinking about, Monsieur Smith?" Fantine said to him from across the table.

"Dictionaries," he replied, not looking up.

Jean Foulon chuckled. "A somber topic to occupy one's thoughts on Christmas Eve, eh, Mr. Smith?"

"Why, not at all. Not for me, at least. You see, I worked in a printing press when I was a boy. Gutenberg Printing Press."

"Ah, you are a German?" Mr. Bartlett asked.

"No."

Mr. Bartlett sat back, his pride a tad bruised, and gnashed on a melancholy bite of potatoes.

Jack continued to weave his yarn. "As I was saying, Gutenberg Printing Press' number one product was dictionaries. Literally, it was all that we printed. For back in those days in the town where I came from, fiction wasn't smiled upon. Seemed a bit superfluous, really. Non-fiction books were encouraged, but our local priest had decided 15 years before that the Holy Bible and the dictionary were the only things really worth reading."

"How did he come to this conclusion?"

"Well, obviously one needs to read the Holy Bible to be set for the life hereafter, however, one must learn to read and write beforehand. And what better way to learn to read than to read the dictionary? That way, if a man comes up to you on the road and asks you what life is worth without the Good Lord, you can reply, 'flocci­nauci­nihili­pili­fication'."

Everyone laughed at this. Jack clandestinely guessed about one fourth of them knew what the word actually meant. He had learned it from an African chief. There was that ironic civilization thing again; it must be a sign he wasn't drinking hard enough. At that, Jack reached for the spiked eggnog.

When the meal was finished, the guests and staff sat back in their chairs, full and happy: the best way to be on Christmas Eve. They began to chat with one another as if they had known everyone in the room since their school days. Fantine and Jean Foulon started having a conversation about the wonderful libraries in Paris and how since the Revolution a great deal of them had been damaged due to barricades and whatnot. Jack knew the conversation was a bit one-sided, as Fantine as far as he knew had sketchy reading skills and probably wasn't literate. But Foulon, whether he was aware of this or not, talked to her as if she were the Head Librarian of London or something. She hadn't seen the libraries in Paris for what, three or four years now? Jack was feeling rather proud of himself that he managed to recall all this information about his wife, especially since he thought he hadn't been listening when she had been talking about it. It must be the low amount of rum in his system. He took another swallow of wine, and picked at the bread pudding. He felt something on his leg. It was a tanned, feminine hand, belonging to the sultry taverness that had been eyeing him all evening. He smiled at her pleasantly, not exactly sure what to do. In a tavern in Tortuga, all a bloke had to do was move her hand a bit closer and say, "Ye like the goods, love? I'll let ye see a bit more for a discounted price." But Jack _obviously_ couldn't say that here, number one because that man Bartlett over there would absolutely choke on his own bread pudding and die of shock on Christmas Eve, and two he didn't exactly know how inn girls reacted to that sort of thing on this island. So he excused himself and wobbled down the hall, arms swinging about, and turned left to the outside of the inn.

"I believe that after the Revolution, if all goes well, we will plummet into a New Age of reason and intelligence. So libraries and other great buildings of historical importance may suffer now, but after all this is over new libraries will be built with new books written about the feats of the revolutionaries, and new historical monuments will be raised honoring the bravery of those who had to die for a just cause." Jean Foulon spoke in French, admiring the greens at the end of his fork. Fantine admired them also. She never would have thought her vegetables would be admired in such a pro-revolutionist mood. Had she anticipated this, she would have added paprika to them. Lucy excused herself and ambled down the hallway, making a sharp left.

"All this talk in French has left me quite bewildered, quite bewildered indeed! Come; let us do something that does not require talking in any designated language at all. Let us have a dance! Mrs. Stew, would you give me the honor?" Mr. Jarvis, a stout man with an absurd-looking little white wig upon his head stood up and offered his hand to Mrs. Stout. John Pontmercy and Caleb Myriel, two violinists staying at the inn until they could find better work in the up-town ceremonies, went to get their violins and rosined their respective bows.

"Shall we have an Allemande? A Minuet?" someone called. Mr. Bartlett disappeared down the hall and took a right.

"No, a Rigadoon!"

The tables were cleared so there was a large space for dancing, and Pontmercy and Myriel began to play merry tune. Jack returned alone soon after, but didn't join the others at the table. The dancers gathered in a circle and joined hands. Fantine looked on, tapping her foot.

"Has anyone seen Lucy?" one of the cooks said, "I put her in charge of the eggnog. We're running low."

"I'll take care of it, miss." Jack gently pushed the cook towards the crowd of dancing people. "I know where it is." Jack went to the kitchen to take care of the beverages, and seeing Mr. Bartlett come down the hallway again, he quickened his step a bit, disappearing into the kitchen. Mr. Bartlett entered the dining hall again, looking about. He casually strolled up to the dinner table, taking a sip from the glass of wine he left at his place. He strolled over to the Frenchpeople, giving a pat on the head to Fantine and complimenting her on the stewed plums. Fantine thanked him before watching him go back down the hallway and make a right.

Fantine excused herself for a moment to check on the children upstairs. Erin was peacefully sleeping in her crib, and Robert had Jack's hat on his head, breaths coming slow and easy. Fantine gently removed the hat, setting it on the table, and put an extra blanket on him. Taking a final look at them, Fantine checked herself in the mirror, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ears. She went downstairs and rejoined the group as the song was ending. After a pause, the violinists began to play another.

"Might I have this dance, Mademoiselle Confidante?" Jean Foulon offered his arm to her. Fantine took it, and they walked to the circle of people dancing. There were different sort of dances for different classes of that time: the poor had their jigs, the rich had their waltzes, but the middle-class had contra dancing and baroques. They were bouncier, happier, more social dances; a light-hearted dance for Hard Times.

"You are looking radiant tonight, Mademoiselle Pascal," Foulon said to her as they crossed under a couple's arms. Fantine smiled up at him. She _did_ feel radiant. Her dress, by the good grace of God Almighty, had decided to fit her that night, and- with the support of a few pieces of cotton from the pillow stuffing tucked into her dress in various flat places- her square-cut neckline revealed a delicate but glorious trace of cleavage. Fantine wore her mousy hair down tonight, instead of in her usual maid's cap, and had tried to curl it as the young ladies her age did, but alas, her hair wasn't in as an obedient mood as her dress was, so she pinned it back in frustration. As she jumped and bounced around in the circle, holding hands with Jean Foulon and a merry Mr. Jarvis, her sallow cheeks had a rosy glow to them, and she didn't feel _quite_ as awkward and homely as she normally did.

"You remind me of my fiancée, Mademoiselle Nicole Champmathieu." Foulon continued.

Ah. So that was it. "She is French?"

"Ah, yes," Foulon got a dreamy look in his eye, "She is a virtuous French lady. She comes from a noble line of aristocrats, though recently her family has been struggling with debt, what with the Revolution and all." The glossiness of his eye seemed to double now. "She is the epitome of beauty and all that is good in France."

"I hope you two will be very happy together in the New France, that is, after the Revolution."

"I'm sure we will," he beamed down at her.

Jack, who had been lurking with a flask of rum in the shadows, his elbow propping himself up against the wall, chose this moment to insert himself in the two lines of people dancing face-to-face and grab Fantine, hoisting her a few feet in the air to his eye-length, saying to Foulon, "Pardon me, monsieur, but this is the way _we_ like to dance in England." Then, he began to gallop down the column of people, swinging her about like a rag doll, and back again. The crowd of dancing people laughed and clapped along at the spectacle: the rough-looking man with the long, bead-entwined hair and beard, and the frail young girl in each other's arms, dancing to a beat of their own. Fantine laughed as he swayed her to and fro, doing a little jig of his own. And for one fleeting moment, it suddenly dawned on her that maybe there was something _more_ to dancing than moving your feet to a song at a social event. In fact, it really didn't have to do with the steps of the song at all: it was just _dancing_- dancing with every fiber of what you were feeling at that moment, no matter how silly you looked in comparison to upper-class civilized dancing, no matter who was watching. And once you let go of your inhibitions, you felt a sort of freedom there, and it becomes an entirely new dance. Maybe, just maybe, that was what piracy felt like. And for second, as her husband stood there, smiling with gold teeth and dark eyes down at her, Fantine truly appreciated being able to dance like a pirate.


	13. Rejection?

**Author's Note: **Bless you, dear readers, for your encouraging reviews. Now _that's_ what I'm talking about! I'm actually trying to move on from the Christmas scene, so I'll be wrapping up Jack's visit this time round in this chapter. I think after one or two chapters we'll start getting into present-tense story, with Will and Elizabeth and the lot. I'm excited!

Oh yeah, and this chapter may have some sensuality in it. I tried to keep it vague. Thanks, and don't forget to review!

* * *

Lucy sat at the table an hour or two later. She had found the dark man, Mr. Smith, standing outside, arms crossed, knee bent with one foot on the wall, leaning up against the back of the stables. He had been looking at the sea. There was something about him- something enchanting- that was scarce in the men of New Antoine. Men in New Antoine were quiet, knew what they wanted at all times, put forth their demands, and expected results in a quiet, timely manner. Too structured for Lucy. She knew Mr. Smith was different, the way he walked about in that strange way- like he didn't know where he was going or why, he was just letting his feet take him there. And the way he stared at the fire and at the sea with those dark eyes. They were so provocative, not at all like Mr. Bartlett's. Mr. Bartlett wasn't technically her _lover_ or anything, not by Lucy's definition. Lucy, despite her reputation, was a bit of a romantic. She always imagined a _lover_ being something dark, mysterious, passionate, even fatal to one's health. Lucy knew one day she would find such a man. But for now Mr. Bartlett made his demands quietly, and she fulfilled them acquiescently. Recently, though, he had been making demands _so much_ that it was becoming a bit annoying and sort of a distraction to her job. True, getting paid for not doing work was a break from the little village she resided in a few miles from here, but sometimes Lucy found she didn't have much time before Mr. Bartlett came round. Even as she approached Mr. Smith in the moonlight and touched his dark-skinned face, weathered from the sea, and as he pulled her closer to him, it wasn't long before she heard Mr. Bartlett softly calling her name within the stables. As they heard Mr. Bartlett's footsteps exit the barnyard and come round the corner, the man in her arms seemed to disappear into thin air and was around the corner like a shadow. Lucy thought of it like trying to hold a wave upon the sand. Her unceremoniously profound thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Bartlett, who approached her with his quiet demands. Afterwards, Mr. Bartlett, obviously shaken with the Christmas spirit, thought tonight of all nights was a good time to engage her in conversation.

"We are thoughtful tonight, my dear?" he asked, beady eyes a-beaming, stroking her beautiful hair.

"I've a lot on my mind," she replied shortly, craning her head to see if Mr. Smith was waiting for her.

"Looking for someone, my pet?" Mr. Bartlett planted a kiss on her shoulder.

Lucy shrunk away a little. If Mr. Smith had been around, perhaps he might not want to meet her again if he saw her showing more than complacency. "Do you mind if we go back to the party, Mr. Bartlett?"

"I'd much rather spend my Christmas Eve with you; alone," he said, planting another kiss on her shoulder.

"It would mean ever so much to me, Mr. Bartlett," she said to him, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes.

Mr. Bartlett sighed. "Who could refuse eyes such as yours?"

Lucy smiled at him and tidied herself up a bit before reentering the room. She stopped to find everyone in the middle of the room, dancing and clapping along at something. Lucy's eyes fell upon Mr. Smith's arms round Fantine. He was swinging her round, and she was laughing, her legs dangling several feet off the ground. Lucy's first reaction was to scoff. Why would _he_ ever want to swing _Fantine_ round, she was practically a child! It was like cradling a little baby, with no breasts or beautiful hair or nice eyes or anything! Her second reaction was that if she didn't blend in with the crowd quickly, someone would notice she had been gone awhile like Mr. Bartlett and suspect something. So she looked around quickly for someone to dance with. There was one person- that good-looking man with the nice hair who had been talking with Fantine in some other language all day long- who got out of the circle of dancers, beaming happily at Mr. Smith and Fantine, and, out of breath, sat down at his place, taking a sip of wine. Lucy straightened up her mussed her and sat with him.

"Good evening, miss," he smiled at her.

"Good evening." She liked his eyes. They were blue.

"This is a very merry inn, is it not?" He smiled at the dancers. Mr. Smith was bowing flippantly to Fantine, and Fantine in return lifted her skirts and dig a little jig Pontmercy had taught her a few weeks before.

"It is," Lucy said. "You are from France, are you not?"

Jean Foulon turned to her brightly. "You know it?"

"Oh yes," Lucy said, "Many people from France used to pass through here, but not so many now."

"I suppose the Revolution has something to do with it."

"Oh, yes, I suppose," Lucy yawned. "France is very beautiful. George Washington is from there, isn't he?"

Jean Foulon looked as if he were going to be ill. He took another long sip of wine. Lucy sighed as Mr. Bartlett slunk in, trying to be unnoticed. Jean Foulon excused himself to return to the dancer's circle, linking arms with one of the other staff girls, Janine.

Lucy went to go stir something in the kitchen. She said a little prayer to the Lord, asking Him to bring her lover to her swiftly, for he mustn't be in the room at this moment. He was not Mr. Smith, for her true lover wouldn't pay so much attention to little children with flat chests and mousy hair; and he was not Mr. Bartlett, for her true lover would not follow her around so much like a lost puppy. And she supposed he was not Jean Foulon, for her true lover would not feel ill so quickly and excuse himself to dance with others, her true lover would have a stronger immunity to such ill vapors. It must be all that eggnog.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack picked the lock to Fantine's room quietly and deftly once everyone had gone to bed. In Jack's mind, he sort of proudly wore a title that he never actually _bragged_ about to other people; it was just common knowledge: he was the Grand Master of Lock-picking, Pick-pocketing, and Anything-Having-to-Do-with-the-General-Action-of-Taking-Advantage-of-People. He had been since he was 11. He had learned the art of lock picking when he was younger, though. When he was an urchin living on the streets of Port Drake, an island a few hundred miles from here. It was one of the larger islands of the Caribbean, and one of the most famous environments for criminal activity in the Spanish Main. It was the earliest place Jack could remember living in. The streets were usually dirty and crowded, the perfect setup for even the most inexperienced of stealers. Jack had remembered stealing a fine golden watch out of a wealthy gentleman's pocket once, and before the man had realized it was missing, he had dashed around the corner of the prison. He had been hiding among a mass of ropes when his eye fell upon two men in front of the prison doors. One man was clad in a red and white uniform; Jack had developed a premonition that these men were to be avoided when out in public. Another was a scrappy-looking older man, with two-inch whiskers on his chin. He was bound in irons at the wrists, and the soldier seemed to be preoccupied with which cell the other man was to be put in. The dirty man in irons seemed to be doing something clever with his fingers, as he slowly lifted his hands up to his left ear and pulled a hair pin and nimbly placed it in the lock that held the irons together. In a few quick movements with his thumb and forefinger, the lock clicked open, and the man's hands were free. Seeing the awed look on Jack's face, the dirty man gave a wink to him, and dashed off into the crowd; the soldier raced off after him. Jack had carried that experience with him all of his years. Thanks to that dirty chap with the two-inch whiskers, Jack had gotten himself out of many a sticky situation. He never went anywhere without a hair pin, placed obscurely at the back of his head. Hair ornaments, though in many cultures considered strictly for feminine tastes, can be a very useful thing. Jack recalled sadly that about a year later he had seen the same dirty man with the whiskers hanged at the gallows along with a young man who looked to be about 18 and a young woman accused of witchcraft. That was shortly before Jack had hopped a ship out of Port Drake, he didn't care where it was going. But he didn't like to talk about that part of his life.

The door willingly creaked open. The room was dark; as his eyes adjusted he could see Robert was asleep in his bed and Erin rested peacefully in her crib. He gazed at Fantine's sleeping silhouette in the corner. She lay on her bed- her party clothes still on- face turned to the wall, her hand resting upon the flat plane of her chest, which was rising and falling slowly. This would be the first time in several years Jack would make love to a woman with a flat chest; in his years of experience he had come to be rather picky. He liked women with meat on their bones, but now was not a time to complain. Jack tiptoed quietly, just as he had many, _many_ times before, to the edge of her bed and gently laid a hand over her mouth as her eyes opened. Holding a finger to his lips, he leaned down and kissed her mouth. Fantine sat up in surprise and opened her mouth to speak, but Jack closed it with another kiss, and another. He picked her up, trying to make as little noise as possible, and carried her to his room, sitting her on the table and kissing her lovely, slender neck. It really wasn't so bad, having a homely wife, at least when he was kissing her nice neck anyway. It almost makes one forget she is homely altogether. Fantine kissed him back, looping her arms tightly about his neck in a tight embrace, as women usually did. Women usually liked this part. Now he would reach for her corset strings, and she would gladly undo them for him, and then he would take off his shirt, and so on, and so on. And in the morning he would wake up feeling not so guilty, because she was, after all, his wife. And husbands have certain rights in marriage, don't they? Yes. They do. He rather liked married life if this was what it was like. So Jack, his lips still tightly pressed against hers, reached for her corset strings, and began to undo them, but then she suddenly pulled away and stopped his hands from their work.

"No." she said.

"What's the matter?"

"It is not right, Jack." She gently pushed him away.

What? But women usually liked this stage. What had he done wrong? "Of course its right, Fantine. You're my wife, you shouldn't feel guilty."

"No, Jack. I'm not," She said, trying to tie her corset back up. "I'm not. I wish I were, but to tell ourselves we are bound in holy union would be a boldfaced lie."

"Then what _is_ a marriage, then? We had the ceremony, we had the rings, we had a priest,"

"It was a sham, we both know that! Besides, a marriage is _more_ than simply a ceremony and two rings. There is… there is _longing_- two people who long for each other so badly they are willing to give up any other man or woman in the world for the other."

"I've _never_ heard that from _any_ married man in my entire life."

"And besides that, I just…I just don't want to."

"Why the devil not? I'm your husband, whether ye like it or not, and a husband has certain rights."

Fantine turned to him. "We had an agreement, Jack. You would pay me for living arrangements and such if I took care of your children."

"And I'm still paying you-"

"Think about it. If we did let ourselves do this, you would leave, and if I were lucky every now and then you would come back and it would be like this every night, but then you would be gone the next morning, leaving me again with no one. What does that make me?"

"It makes you my bloody wife!"

"It makes me a whore, Jack." Fantine said flatly, "A woman getting paid by a man to sleep with him is a whore."

Jack stared at her furiously. "You're daft. You're bloody daft." He turned to the door.

"I may be daft, but at least I won't be next to you in the morning!"

"Fine! I don't care if your conscious stays bloody clean for the rest of your life." he turned back. "I don't care if you whore yourself out to every man, English or French, in the bloody Caribbean!"

She slapped him, hard. "Get out." She snarled.

Jack said nothing, grabbing his hat and his coat and storming out the door. He stalked down the stairs, took a left to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of rum and walked quickly to the door, flinging it open.  
"Merry Christmas," he growled lowly, slamming it closed and making his way to the ship harbor. He would get the fastest ship out of New Antoine, even if he had to commandeer one in the middle of the night. He had to get out of this cursed place, and quickly. He had to get away from Fantine, the bride from Hell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And did you ever see her again?" Will asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Jack took off his hat and put his hand to his head, staring sadly out the window. "Aye. It was brief. A couple of months after that Christmas I had continued sending her payments to look after Erin and Robert. About one and a half, two years later, I would say, that had been going on, and in those two years New Antoine had gained considerably revenue from the East India Trading Company. The quiet, safe little harbor had made its way up to the top of every decent pirate's plunder list, actually. And I thought if I had a hand in plundering all the treasure in that place I would be able to get back me ship and a new crew, because I had been surviving on a sloop with a very small crew, mostly composed of very small Spaniards. That was the year I became rather fluent in Spanish, I remember. Anyway, we made our way to New Antoine, armed with the knowledge that they had recently strengthened their border security against pirates- making it extremely hard to get in and plunder- and also armed with the knowledge of _how_ to get in. Some called me crazy, but the thing that separated me from all the other pirate captains planning on raiding New Antoine was that _they_ had never actually been in the place, because _they_ didn't have French wives who worked in inns inside the port. So we teamed up with another pirate crew, of the_ Fair Annie_, which was a bigger ship with a considerable amount of cannons and artillery we didn't have, plus a bigger crew. Their ship sailed around the main docks, while we sneaked by the side gates where Bootstrap Bill and I had snuck over before. There were guards there, but we killed them off easily, and hopped the gates wearing their uniforms. We slipped past the interior guards and opened the gates to the town, letting the crew of the _Fair Annie_ in. Then, both of our crews raided the town, plundering whatever they could find. After burning a few houses and breaking into a winery to make sure both ships were well-stocked on alcohol, I took a stroll up to the inn I had stormed out of with angry Christmas wishes two years before to find a few members of the _Fair Annie_ trying to sack the place, but having some difficulty. As I walked inside, I saw Fantine, a huge rifle in her arms. She was trying to figure out how to shoot it when she saw me.

"'Well, well, if it isn't the wily Captain Sparrow,' she said."

"'I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to me kids,' I replied."


	14. What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor?

**Author's Note:** Well, readers, it's been along time. But summer is here, and with it a very _long _chapter. Hope you like it.

By the way, there's more mangled languages in here. I know a small amount of Spanish, but I still don't know enough to say what I wanted to say, so I used a translator again. Sorry if it's messed up.

I should also mention I don't have a beta for this fic, so all the mangled grammar in this is entirely 100 organic anotherblastedromantic mistakes. Buy them half-off now!

* * *

"Leave this one be, mates." Jack commanded, "There are plenty of other inns to plunder, and there's not much in this one anyways." 

"You ain't our captain," one pirate of the _Fair Annie_ remarked insolently.

"On the contrary. According to the Code of the brethren, set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, article number…" he paused, squinting, "seven hundred sixty… four? Four. Article number seven hundred sixty-four states that when two pirate captains make a pact to sail under one flag in order to increase the overall plunder, each of their respective crews must-"

"Must obey the other crew's captain as if it were their own until said plunder is at a satisfactory amount for both crews to sail independently and the pact is broken." Finished the other pirate, "We _know_ the code."

"Then you'll do your best not to disobey it, then, eh?" Jack wheeled around towards Fantine, who was struggling with what appeared to be a musket. Regimental Matchlock, he thought. He wasn't as knowledgeable about guns as he was about swords, but he had encountered many a musket in his dealings with the British troops. But young innkeepers didn't usually go sporting these sorts of muskets for protection, least of all Fantine, who looked to be jamming something dangerously into the barrel. Jack took a step back. She _definitely_ shouldn't have one of those. Where did she get that?

"Besides," the other pirate continued, interrupting Jack's thoughts, "We think of the code as… guidelines." He peered past Jack at Fantine, still wielding the oversized rifle nervously. He began to advance, but at that moment Fantine pulled the trigger. Jack jumped out of the way, yelping a bit, but something had gone terribly wrong with the musket, so that the bullet didn't shoot out of the barrel in the direction that Fantine had intended for it to go. Instead, it sort of went backwards, exploding out of the musket and ricocheting off the bar behind Fantine, hitting a mirror with a frightful _ping._ All the commotion caused the girls hiding near Fantine to shriek and run around madly (similar to chickens), Fantine to fall backwards on her rump in a blur of skirts, the two pirates to dash out quickly, one shouting that he thought he had been shot in the arse, and Jack to hear distant voices of children crying upstairs.

Jack looked around. "What the bloody devil happened?!"

"I… I don't know," Fantine remarked, staring up at him confusedly, as if she didn't know who he was. She looked down at her shoulder. "I shot myself." She remarked, rather amusedly.

Jack knelt down to see. "No, it's just a cut. See? Practically no blood at all."

"Blood," Fantine remembered the last time Jack had talked to her about blood, except he had been delusional. Now was_ she_ the delusional one? "I… I feel a bit shaken."

"Most people do after firing a musket. Especially when firing it backwards. I should have known that ye'd be the one to bloody shoot a musket backwards." He helped her to her feet. "Can ye walk?"

"I… I think so," Fantine looked to her left shoulder, noticing his rough hand upon it. She pulled away. "I am fine."

"You're wobbling." Jack said pointedly.

"Don't touch me, I said I'm fine." He would be the one to talk about wobbling. His walk had gotten worse; he practically sashayed into the room like an exotic dancer when he burst in. Meanwhile, the inn girls were still squawking about madly; Fantine tried to get their attention.

"Ladies, please! Everything is alright now; you do not need to panic. Ladies!" Fantine fell silent, and made to load her musket again, wielding it above her head like a savage warlord, aiming at the ceiling. Jack caught her and pulled the musket away just in time.

"Ye don't need to be using that again," he shook her off of it. "Oy!" he bellowed. "Wenches! Lend an ear!"

The mob of girls stopped for a moment to look up, frightened.

"We aren't in any danger," Fantine said, unsure if what she was saying was true, "But we do need to clean up this mess before anything else happens. Cora, fetch a broom. Sarah, Rebekah, clean up those shards of glass and be careful not to cut yourself. Paul," she beckoned, and an older looking man came forward. She whispered something in his ear, casting a glance towards Jack. Paul nodded and exited the room. "Katherine, please tend to the guests and tell them to come out of hiding."

"And take this," Jack handed her the gun. The girl nearly buckled under its weight, hauling it off with shaking arms.

Fantine turned towards Jack. "You must go right now."

Jack gave her a mischievous half-grin. "Why? I've only just arrived. Besides, I 'aven't seen my kids yet, which is why I came in the first place."

"Robert won't remember you." Fantine said, blocking his way upstairs.

"Sure 'e will," Jack said, trying to get around her. He turned left, and she took a step to the left. Jack sighed, and tried the other way. She took a step to the right, stopping him with her hand on his lapel.

"He was devastated when you went away. He didn't… he didn't understand why you had gone."

Jack paused. He couldn't have said goodbye, he had been too angry. What was he supposed to do now? Apologize? For what? For wanting sex? Jack never apologized for wanting sex. What man did?

"I'm going to see them, Fantine." He said, taking her by the shoulders, gingerly lifting her up, and placing her down behind him. When he stepped onto the first stair, Fantine spoke up in a casual voice.

"Oh by the way, Jack, I almost forgot to tell you. There was a lovely young lady that came through here a few months ago. She had long brown hair with beautiful eyes of topaz and skin like coffee."

Jack stopped, grasping the walls beside him with both hands. He didn't turn around. "Her name. What was her name."

"Let me see... it began with an L, I think. Laurel? Laura… no… Laurelina! Laurelina-"

"Starsgard." Jack finished grimly. "Laurelina Starsgard."

"Oui, I remember it was an odd name."

"She made it up for 'erself, that's why it's a silly name."

"Oh, and she was also, hmm, what is word, she was you know," Fantine rubbed her stomach, trying to make it look round. "How do you say… with child?"

Jack groaned, and turned around wearily. "She's pregnant?"

"Oui. Her belly was small then, but when I saw her in the market a few days ago, she was more like…" Fantine turned so that Jack could see her profile, and she made a big swooping movement around her belly, puffing out her cheeks so that she looked rather like a chipmunk.

"She's still_ here?!_" Jack cried, glancing out the window at the buildings the crew had set afire. He imagined Laurelina coming out the flames with a high-pitched shriek, like some fat-cheeked, round-bellied, moody Lucifer.

"Oh, oui. But I imagine she will be coming round here soon, now that the pirates are plundering the town. She's bound to ask one of them if they know the famed Jack Sparrow."

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow." Jack hid behind the stairwell. "Of all the islands in the Caribbean, she 'ad to choose _this_ one to stay on, at the same time I came? The whole world is filled with bloody coincidences!"

"God has a sense of humor," Fantine remarked piously.

"A sick sense of humor."

"That's blasphemy."

"At this point, Miss Pascal, one blasphemous remark on top of my giant pile of sins won't get me any further into Hell than I already am. Now please, let me see my children so I can leave this God-forsaken island." He made his way up the stairs and opened the door to the nursery. Robert was hiding behind a chair, and Erin was crying in her bed. She was about two now, and had a curly head of red hair. She was beginning to look like her mum. Robert was whimpering.

"S'alright now, lad," Jack said, stepping forward. "Ye can come out now. No one's going to 'arm you."

"Who… who are you?" Robert sniffled.

"Why, don't you remember me?" Jack knelt down.

"I remember you," came a voice from behind him. Jack tensed up, slowly standing and turned. A beautiful woman with a large belly stood blocking the door with a fearsome look in her eyes of topaz. It was Laurelina. And Fantine was right behind her, arms crossed; grinning like the saints had just come marching in.

Jack mumbled something about bloody coincidences.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Jack?" Laurelina stepped forward, "What's going on? How do you know that child?"

Jack looked from her to Fantine desperately. Fantine beckoned towards the window, pointing at the pirate ships. Jack looked at Robert, then at the boat.

"F-Fantine… ship… goodbye… blasphemy." He managed to gurgle.

"What Mr. Sparrow means-" Fantine started.

"What_ Captain_ Sparrow means." Jack interrupted.

"What _Captain_ Sparrow means is that he has visited this island once before several months ago, when it was… safe. Two pirates were terrorizing my inn when he stopped by to call them off, before coming upstairs to say hello to my little boy Robert. And weren't you just leaving, Captain?" she smiled.

"Father!" Robert cried, opening his arms up to Jack, who stared down at him unsurely.

"Father?!" Laurelina repeated.

"Father… of all things on this earth be praised, Laurelina, it's good to see you! What a pity, though, if I don't leave this inn now, I might quite literally miss my boat. So, being as the only people in the inn are women and children, not ruthless pirates, with the exception of myself, and I'm not the one in the inn terrorizing at the moment, I should just-"

"Jack!" Laurelina cried, eyes welling up wit tears. Oh God, here come the tear-welling eyes. How did women get themselves to cry on such short notice? "Wait! You left me, after that amazing night in Singapore-"

Fantine covered Robert's ears.

"And you left without saying a word! How could you, Jack? I thought you loved me! I thought our relationship meant something to you! You told me that I was the one for you, you said you were going to give all the other women up for me! What happened to Singapore?"

"Probably still floating around somewhere in Southeast Asia, I'm sure," Jack said, trying to saunter past, "now if you'll excuse me, I really must-"

Laurelina pushed past him, and stood at the edge of the staircase. She said, determinedly, "I'm having a baby, Jack, and you know it's yours. There hasn't been anyone else but you. And you _will_ be around to help me have it, now that I know where you are. You _will_ or… or I'll throw myself down these stairs!" She looked behind her, grasping the rail with one hand and her belly with another.

"You don't want to be doing that, lass."

"Oui, Miss Starsgard, you do not want to be doing that."

"I told you Jack," Laurelina said, eyes misty, "I would die for you. That's what love does to a girl. It kills them… slowly."

"Really, Laurelina, now isn't the time for dramatics. I'm a pirate, I already lead a life full of drama. Now, why don't you just take a step forward and-"

Laurelina smiled sadly, and let go of the rail. Fantine shrieked, and held Robert to her bosom, hiding his eyes. Jack gasped, and tried to catch her, but it was too late. With a terrible clamber, Laurelina lay at the foot of the stairs, her beautiful brown locks hiding her face, turned to the side. Fantine put Robert, who had started to cry, in his room with Erin as Jack hurried down the stairs, ripping off his hat.

"Oh God," Fantine came down the stairs, her hands to her mouth, "Oh God, is she-?"

"No," Jack felt her pulse and listened to her breathing, "no, she's still alive. But she needs a doctor. Quickly!" The girl named Katharine ran out as fast as she could. Jack put his hand to his head, his dirty curls falling down to hide his face. "Stupid, silly girl… I… I didn't…"

Fantine stood over him, saying nothing for a while. Katharine returned presently, huffing and puffing. "The doctor's left town," she pointed, out of breath, "ever since the pirate raid."

Jack groaned. Ironic. Why did these coincidences come at such short intervals, all clumped up in one day?

"Alright," Fantine said presently, kneeling down, "I'm going to have to do the best I can on her. I am not a doctor, but I do know enough. Sarah, clean off that table. Captain Sparrow, Paul, pick her up carefully and lay her down over there."

Jack stared down at Laurelina's unmoving body and shuddered. He never liked the look of a woman's unmoving body. The way they always flitted about, it was unnatural- gruesome- to see them lifeless. It was enough to give any scallywag the Davies. But no sane pirate _captain_ ever let something out like that without getting at least a punch in the face. Or, in Jack's case, no _in_sane pirate captain ever let something out like that without getting at least a punch in the face.

"I… I should go get… help…" Jack stumbled over his words. He needed to get out of here.

"_Help?_" Fantine said incredulously, turning around, "What on earth could a _pirate_ do for this girl? _You've_ done enough of her already," she added under her breath, touching Laurelina's stomach.

Jack rolled his eyes. Always the same. "You're just in a tizzy because you found out about one of my mistresses. All you wenches are alike."

"Really, Jack," Fantine said as she felt Laurelina's pulse, "I don't care about you and your… what is word… _amorous_ affairs, but if you are going to bring one of your mistresses to me, would you mind picking one that isn't so silly?"

"I didn't bring 'er 'ere, she came on 'er own accord." Jack retorted. He paused, grinning to himself. "Besides, the silly ones are just _drawn_ to me. If I chose smart lasses instead of silly ones, why, they wouldn't have me and I'd be all by me onesies, wouldn't I?"

Fantine said nothing, putting an ear to Laurelina's belly. "This is useless," she looked at Jack. "You do not have any business here any more. Leave, before she wakes up."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Jack grabbed his hat.

"_If _she wakes up." Fantine added, "And take those Spaniard pirates with you!"

"Say hullo to the children for me." Jack called from the door.

Jack meandered down the streets of New Antoine, picking up stray plunder that a pirate may have dropped and putting them in a handy potato sack he found. He discovered a jewelry store that had been raided of almost everything, but hidden underneath a rug was a door to a secret rum cash that hadn't been touched.

"What a lovely coincidence!" he cried, taking a very long swig.

Once he had two full potato sacks, and several boxes of rum under his arm, he sauntered down to the boat, where he found all of the crew standing around, shouting.

"Oy! There's a rum storage down on Wimbleton Avenue, under the jewelry store… what's going on?"

"Someone has sabotaged our ship while we were plundering!" a pirate cried angrily.

"Oh." Jack looked at all of them. "Bad luck, mates. Well, 'ave a lovely time 'ere-"

"It's not so bad," the pirate continued, "They just blew a couple holes in our ship, which can be fixed. They set fire to yours." He pointed at Jack's sloop; something exploded on the deck. The crew of the _Fair Annie_ laughed.

"Eres un mal capitan!" cried one of the Spanish pirates named Ricky.

"That's not very nice," Jack remarked, "I'm just as good of a captain as theirs is." He gestured to the crew of the _Fair Annie_. "Now, let me just think..." he sighed, and tugged on a string of beads braided into his hair. "We'll 'ave to stay 'ere until the ship can get back into… ship shape."

"Donde podemos permanecer?" Ricky asked.

"I don't know where we can stay!" Jack looked at all the buildings set afire. "There aren't any buildings that all of you haven't set fire to in this town-"

"There's an inn a few blocks down, it's not deserted, so we can be served, if we use death threats!"

Oh no. They were talking about Fantine's inn. Bloody coincidence.

"We can take prisoners!"

"And eat continental breakfast!"

Aye, have a fun time with that one. "I really do think that's a bad idea." Jack ventured forward.

"No cuidamos lo que piensas." Ricky sneered.

"Well… you should care what I think, Mr. Martin, because… because I'm the captain!"

"You are not our captain anymore," another Spaniard laughed, "We joined the crew of the _Fair Annie,_ and now all you have is a blown-up sloop!"

Everyone laughed heartily, and ran down the street.

Jack stared after them. "Nobody listened to me when I was a _real_ captain, either."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack knew New Antoine better than he thought. For instance, the crew of the _Fair Annie_ didn't know the back alleyways like he did when he was sneaking with Bootstraps with a baby to the inn. Jack's sneaking skills were an advantage he was grateful for; it may have been one of the only piratey skills he knew he still had. Therefore, he arrived first to the inn. Jack went through the stables, and arrived on the back side of the inn. When he strolled into the from, he heard wailing and the sound of people rushing around. Laurelina was on the table, holding her stomach and crying. Fantine ran up to him.

"She woke up," she said frantically, "She woke up and she went into labor!"

"Well _that_ can't be good."

"I don't know what to do," she grabbed his lapels, "I don't know what to do! I've never delivered a baby before! I don't know what to do!"

"I've got worse news," Jack said, glancing out the window, "My crew betrayed me, and joined the _Fair Annie_. They're coming here right now, and they want continental breakfast and prisoners."

Fantine started talking to herself in French, and Jack glanced out the window. There was a lovely view of the harbor, and through the broken glass he could see a straight shot of the _Fair Annie_ and a load of rum on the deck. Maybe someone raided the jewelry store rum cash after all. If once could aim right, one could hit the rum store and do serious damage to the ship.

"What a coincidence." Jack remarked as the crew of the _Fair Annie_ burst in at that moment.

"We're going to stay here at your inn until our ship can be fixed, and we're going to kill anyone who doesn't serve us!"

"We want prisoners!"

"And continental breakfast!"

"We don't serve continental breakfast at this time of day, especially to pirates." Paul spat, and was shot in the head. The women around Laurelina screamed, and resumed their activities this morning, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Laurelina moaned in pain.

"We'll serve you," Fantine stepped forward, "on one condition."

"Don't do anything stupid, lass-" Jack stopped talking when Ricky aimed at his head.

"And what is that?"

"There is a woman having a baby here, and she needs a doctor. We cannot do anything until the baby comes out."

"We can cut it out of 'er, and then you can serve us." A pirate guffawed.

"No, you will not." Fantine said bravely, stepping in front of Laurelina.

Ricky pushed Jack aside and aimed at Fantine. "No es sabio decir no a un pirata, especialmente debajo de un arma."

"Vous n'êtes aucun pirate, vous êtes une morue." She replied.

"Oh, what a coincidence- Spanish and French sound remarkably similar. Thank goodness for Latin-based languages, eh? Well, now that we've switched from English, I think I'll just be…" Jack started to sashay to the door, but another large pirate named Pete grabbed him by the collar and picked him up, carrying him over to the bar with the shattered mirror. There was a deer's head next to the musket that Fantine used, and Pete hung him by the deer's antlers.

"I really don't like to be man-handled." Jack mumbled.

Once everyone had finished laughing at him, they directed their attentions to Fantine once more. Jack took this time to take the musket out of the rack and make sure Fantine had reloaded it correctly when she was going to fire it again. Yes, thank goodness.

"Right, lassie, continental breakfast first, baby later- or we'll burn the whole inn down with all of you's inside."

"Don't do anything stupid." Jack called from the antlers, holding the musket. Everyone turned.

"You only have one shot, Sparrow, and it's going to take more than that to stop us."

"Then I'll just have to put it where it will do the most damage, then, won't I?" Jack pointed the musket at the hole in the window, and fired.

Pete laughed. "Damage my arse! The only thing you did was hit our rum, and that was a lucky shot! You mad buffoon!"

"If I wasn't mad, it would never work." Jack pointed out the window. "It'd be most unfortunate if some of that rum got near my exploded boat, now, wouldn't it?"

There was a loud _fwooooooom_, and the _Fair Annie _turned into a column of fire and smoke. Jack smiled. And that when he was only _half_ drunk.

"Captain Jack Sparrow blew up an entire ship all the way from across town with a single shot!"

"And with Admiral Henry Norrington's gun too," remarked Fantine, "What a coincidence."

The captain of the _Fair Annie_ turned back to Jack. "You blew up my ship," he snarled, "Now I'm _really _going to kill you." He drew his sword.

Suddenly, one of the pirates who had been keeping watch ran inside. "There are three ships approaching, and they're flying under the royal navy's flag!"

"Bloody coincidence," grumbled the captain of the _Fair Annie_, "that they would arrive right at this moment! It's alright, lads, we can make it to Vierge Harbor if we go now and take the back roads. They'll never catch us. Hurry!"

All the pirates rushed out of the room, the captain following, who turned back and shouted, "Good luck with the royal navy, _Captain_ Sparrow, I'm sure you'll have a lot to catch up on with them! Be seeing you," he paused, "Or maybe I won't!"

Fantine grabbed a chair and stood on it, helping Jack down. "Blast. I need to get out of here, and quick. If the royal navy finds me-"

"Hullo!" a young soldier hurried into the room. He was smartly dressed; his uniform indicated he was high of rank. "If there are any pirates here, come out in the name of the law!"

Jack clapped a hand over Fantine's mouth. "Oh, thank goodness you've arrived!" He said quickly. "The name's Smith. I'm a poor merchant, and I was visiting my sister here," he indicated Fantine, "who works at this inn, when my wife went into labor. There she is, over on that table. We were about to get a doctor when vicious pirates attacked us. They went off in that direction, by the backroads. They were hoping to get to Vierge Harbor. If you hurry, you can still catch them!"

"Thank you, friend. We are indebted to your service." A large group of uniformed men hurried past him; they outnumbered the crew of the _Fair Annie_ two to one. The young man was about to follow, when he stopped at the door. "Is there anything you need?"

"We need a doctor!" Fantine cried.

"Of course. Corporal, send for Doctor Jameson, and tell him it's urgent!"

"Thank you, monsieur."

"My pleasure, miss. If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask."

"May I have a name to ask for?"

"Commander Cutler Beckett, at you service." The young man bowed. "If there is nothing more, I must go." He ran to catch up with the others.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Several hours passed. Jack was nervously fidgeting with random articles of clothing on his person; Fantine could see he was not at home when the royal navy was near. But he couldn't leave now; it would be too conspicuous, and the navy would catch up with him in a minute and find out about his true identity. And then he would be in the same position as he was with the crew of the _Fair Annie_: on a rack of antlers, about to be stabbed. So Fantine and he sat in her room, with the children, away from the soldiers.

"Father," Robert said, playing with a little toy top, "What was all that noise down there?"

"We were all… playing a game." Jack said, looking out the window.

"What game?"

"Checkers."

"Oh," Robert said, disinterested. He went back to playing with his top.

Fantine was thoughtful. "What is her real name?"

"I can't remember. Polly, or Prudence, or something like that."

"How did you two meet?"

Jack sighed, trying to remember. It seemed like such a long time ago. "She was some rich sheriff's daughter, or something, and she had ran away, and within minutes of reaching the docks she had been snatched up by a group of pirates looking for some… booty."

"Booty?" Fantine said, "I do not know this word."

"Swag. Treasure. Breasts. I mean chests. Treasure chests. You know, things to trade with."

"Ah." she said, picking up a handkerchief and mending it.

"Anyway, I was looking for a ship to commandeer, and theirs looked awfully nice, and once I had gotten well on my way I heard shouting from the brig and saw her, all tied up. And, things just… went where they went."

"I see." Erin had been sitting in a corner, when she got up and toddled over to Jack, reaching out for him. He picked her up, and bounced her on his knee. She gurgled with laughter.

"She can walk now?"

"Oui." Fantine smiled, "She is learning her first words as well. She is not as quick as Robert to learn things, but not many children are. I love her hair, it is… it is like fire. Her mother must have been very beautiful."

"She was. She had a fiery temper, as well."

"As does Erin. She has a… what is word… it like a temper, but it can be good, or it can be bad."

"Mood?"

"No, it is with an a-"

"Attitude?"

"Oui. She has an attitude." Fantine smiled. "English is so hard to learn. You have so many different words for one thing. For example, in French, when we want to say quick, we say vite. But in English, you can say swift, snappy, prompt-"

"Expeditious, nimble, hurried, timely, rapid, fleet, rushing-" Jack continued.

"Fast." Fantine grinned.

"Aye. So… I didn't see that portly old woman 'ere, what was 'er name…"

"Madame Stew?"

"Aye. Mrs. Stew. Where's she? She's certainly give the crew of the _Fair Annie_ a run for their money."

Fantine looked down. "She died. Not long after you left. The winter proved too strong for her, and she had… what is word… it is the sickness, and you cough up blood."

"Tuberculosis?"

"I think so. Oui, it was tuberculosis. She died, and she left this inn to me."

"Oh… congratulations."

Fantine nodded gravely.

Robert got up and ran to Jack. "Father, did you use to tell me stories?"

"That I did, boy, that I did."

"Will you tell me one now?"

"Aye. Would you like to hear about Bluebeard and the Forty Cutthroats?"

"Captain-" Fantine warned.

"I want to hear about Bluebeard!" Robert cried excitedly. Suddenly, the man who they had met before, Commander Beckett, burst in.

"Mr. Smith, excuse the interruption. It seems your wife is suffering from hemorrhages, and most of the workers in this inn have deserted. The doctor needs your sister to help deliver the baby."

Fantine looked at Jack, and got up quickly to leave with Beckett, who shut the door. Jack looked at his son, who was staring expectantly up at him, and heard screams from downstairs. He sighed.

"I first met Captain Bluebeard on an island called Tiki-Picki. I had gotten myself into a bit of a jam, you see, involving three large Hungarians and a little dog named Fido…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Robert was asleep. After the story of Bluebeard, he wanted to hear the story of Meency-Weency and the Gorgolon cannibals, so Jack tried to remember what he had said- something about carrots- and retold the story. Even if it wasn't like the original, Robert didn't seem to mind. He had only told two stories, and already the strength had gone from him, as if he had battled the whole crew of the _Fair Annie_ twice over. He never wanted a nap so much in his entire life. There was something to be respected in Fantine's line of work- she had to do this twenty-four hours every day. And now there was a third baby on the way, so she had even more work to do. _If_, that is, she would take the baby. She was in a bad mood, now.

At that moment, Fantine stuck her head in the door. She had taken her cap off, and her mousy hair was sticking out all over the place. "Captain." She said softly. He got up, and went outside the room, closing the door behind him. He saw why she had only poked her head in the room, instead of entering in front of the children. Her arms and apron were covered in blood. Even her face and hair was speckled with it. Jack grimaced.

"What on _earth_ have you been doing down there?"

"The doctor is not a woman's doctor. He's only there to mend the wounds of the soldiers on the ships, but he knows very little about delivering a baby. He wanted me for a woman's touch on things, but he has no idea of what he is doing." She looked down the stairs. "I think he made it worse."

"So… the baby?"

"Babies." She corrected him. He turned pale. "She had twins. Two healthy little boys. But, Captain, I think because she did not have proper medical care, and she worked hard instead of rested while she was pregnant, and she fell down the stairs, the… how you say… the _strain_ of it all has made her ill." She sighed. "I am not sure, but I think she is dying."

Jack sighed, and put a hand to his head.

"She wants you."

"She wants _me_?"

"Oui. When she was having the babies, instead of cursing you to Hell like I've heard women usually do when having children, she begged for your presence. Now is a good time to see her."

Jack felt a knot in his stomach.

"You must." She grabbed his by the arm with her bloody hand and pulled him down the stairs, pushing him towards Laurelina.

Laurelina held the two infants in both arms. Her pretty brown hair was plastered to her coffee-colored face, and her topaz eyes were weary. Laurelina smiled at him, and grabbed his hand.

"Jack, please stay with me." She begged.

"But… I…."

"If I'm going to die, I want to be by your side." She groaned, then in strained breaths said, "Remember? You taught me how to swordfight, and we were battling side-by-side at that brawl on the deck of the _Pristine_, and I told you this was the best way for a girl to die- by the side of the man she loves."

"Oh, yes, I do remember that…" Jack said. He didn't remember it; when he was fighting he never listened to girls, it broke his concentration. Besides, it was usually silly rubbish about dying by someone's side that wasn't really important to listen to anyway. But it would make Laurelina feel better.

"Look, Jack," she held the babies out to him, "look at our children!"

Jack hesitantly took the wailing boys. God, they made a din! Their eyes were pretty, though. Like topaz. Like their mum's. Why was it that all of his kids inherited their mum's eyes? His eyes were alright, weren't they? They had his hair, though. And his jawbones. Was _he_ this loud when he was a kid? He smiled. Probably.

"Mr. Smith," the doctor beckoned. He was in bloody apron as well. "I must speak with you."

Jack handed his boys back to Laurelina, and walked with the doctor outside. Laurelina turned to Fantine. "They like him."

"I think the feeling is mutual." Fantine replied.

"Miss Pascal, I know something's going on between you two. You and Jack know each other, don't you? And he's so close to that little boy… I think I've heard him call him father. Please, tell me- what's going on?"

Fantine looked at her. Should she tell her the truth? "Do you want the truth?"

"Yes."

Fantine glanced at Jack. "The truth is… the truth is… they are his children."

"Are they your children, too?" Laurelina's eyes were pleading.

Fantine sighed. "No. They aren't my children. I take care of them for him, because I'm better at it than him. They call me mother, because I don't want anyone to suspect in this town. People like to talk here."

"They are children of past lovers of his?"

"Oui, mademoiselle."

"And… was there another one after me?" Laurelina's eyes filled with tears. She was prone to do that. Fantine swallowed.

"No. He told me. He's in love with you. The youngest is two years old. Last… last time he visited he told me he had fallen in love with a beautiful young lady, and that he… he wanted to raise a family with you."

"Oh!" Laurelina gasped. "Really? He wants to be with me?"

"Oui, mademoiselle."

"That is good news. I thought… I thought he _didn't_ want these children." She smiled at Jack, who was talking with the grim-faced doctor outside. "He's talking about my death. I'm going to die; I can feel it- already my eyes are growing dark. It doesn't matter, though, just as long as I know my sons are taken care of. You _will_ take good care of them, won't you?"

"Oui, mademoiselle."

Laurelina clasped her hand. "That is good. What a wonderful way to end my life. I never thought I would love a pirate so dearly. But there is a wildness in him that makes me want to be by his side forever. How funny that he should be so attached to children!"

"Not just children, mademoiselle, _his_ children."

"Why do you think he- a pirate captain, supposedly a calloused creature- loves them so much?"

Fantine crossed her arms, thoughtful. "I think… I think it_ is_ because he is a pirate. Pirates lead lives of thieves: they take the prized possessions of others, the things they have worked hard to earn and make in this world. Pirates take no part in making anything. And, for a man as odd as Captain Jack Sparrow, a child of his is something he helped to make. For once in his life, he put something of himself into the life of another human being. And that is why he loves it so dearly."

Laurelina smiled at Fantine. "For such a homely little girl, you possess such wisdom!"

"Thanks. I get that a lot."

Jack approached Laurelina warily. He knew she was about to die, he just didn't know how to say it.

"What shall we name them?" Laurelina smiled, cradling the two boys. "I thought we could name one James, after my father, and Teague, after your father."

Cutler Beckett was talking to someone, and stopped. He stared quizzically at Jack. Jack nervously looked back.

"No, no, my father's name isn't Teague. It's… Harry."

"No, I seem to recall overhearing a conversation between you and a fat man with strange sideburns, and he was talking about a man named Teague."

"It must have been another man. What's your name?" Jack turned to the doctor.

"Doctor Jameson. Doctor James Jameson."

"Your name is James too?" Laurelina smiled.

"What a bloody coincidence," Jack mumbled. "Fine. If you're set on the name Teague so much, we'll call him Teague. Although I'm sure Teague isn't my father's name," he glanced at Beckett, "Because when my father was born Teague was a very popular name, almost everyone had it, so even if my father's name _was_ Teague, he wouldn't be anybody important."

"Wonderful. James and Teague. I'm sure you're going to be very happy with your father," she smiled at the two wailing boys, handing them to Fantine. She took Jack's hand. "Don't forget me, Jack," she whispered. Then, she leaned her head back on the table, and the twinkle left from her eyes. Jack let go of her hand, and it dropped. She didn't move anymore.

All the soldiers removed their hats, as did Doctor Jameson and Jack. Cutler Beckett approached.

"I am sorry, sir. If you would like help with the funeral arrangements-"

"No, no," Jack thought quickly, "You men have your work, and… and I think a quiet funeral is best. We'll take her out to the cemetery today and bury her… alone."

"Very well. We will send for a priest. Corporal Thomas," he gestured.

"Thank you so much for your concern, Commander," Fantine said.

"It is all that we can do. Thank you for letting us reside at your inn for this sort period of time, Miss Smith. Now that the crew of the _Fair Annie_ has been apprehended, we will be leaving soon, and you will have your pay." He paused. "Teague. That's an interesting name. There's a well-known pirate named Teague."

"It's a popular name." said Jack. "It means… poet… in Gaelic."

"How interesting," he said, "There may be one or two raiders still about; we'll give you one of our men to escort you… just to keep away any… mischief." Cutler Beckett continued to stare at him. Jack smiled nervously back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was a carriage in the stables that they used to carry Laurelina's coffin inn. The advantage of living in a city that had been previously raided by pirates is that one could drop by any deserted store and "borrow" anything that hadn't been taken already. Jack handled that. He told Fantine to get all the money she could and meet him in the carriage with all the children. They rode to the cemetery, near the forest where the crew of the _Fair Annie_ tried to escape. Jack and the soldier dug a hole, while Fantine watched over the children. She handed him the handkerchief she was mending to wipe his face with, and after he was done he ticked it in his pocket. Might be needing that. They buried her silently, and since they didn't have a gravestone, Jack carved her name into a wooden cross Robert had found and stuck it in the ground. The priest said a prayer for Laurelina, and they had a moment of silence. Fantine laid a flower of the ground for her, and ushered the children into the carriage.

The priest turned to Jack. "Mr. Smith, if you are ready, we'll head back to the inn."

"Right," Jack said. "Corporal, would you mind picking up that shovel for me?"

"Yes, sir." The corporal bent over to pick it up. When he wasn't looking, Jack pulled out his sword and hit the soldier on the back of his head with the handle of his sword. The boy fell over, unconscious. Then he picked up the shovel and turned toward the priest.

"Bad luck, mate." He hit the old man on the back of the head, who fell down unconscious. "Sleep well, Father."

Fantine got out of the carriage quickly. "You hit a priest with a shovel!" she said incredulously.

"At least I didn't kill 'im." Jack shrugged.

"What's the meaning of this?"

"Listen, lass," Jack pulled her to the carriage. "Do you know how to drive one of these things?"

"Y-yes, but why-"

"Good. I need you to take the children and drive yerselves down to Vierge Harbor. Once ye get there, 'op the fastest ship off this island and don't come back. Then get on a ship to the Americas- in the Orleans territory, there is a town called Grand Isle. It's French, so you won't have a lot of trouble from the navy, and it's relatively safe. I'm sending the payments there, so you can go back to France if you want to, but don't expect anything from me, understand?"

"But... I'm not nearly prepared! I didn't bring the children's clothes, my clothes, any food-"

"I know, I know, but I 'ad told ye what the plan was before, ye would've attracted too much attention to yerself, and the navy would be onto me."

"But my inn!"

"Someone else will take over. I'm sorry, lass, but that Beckett fellow is onto me, and if 'e finds out that I'm Captain Sparrow, 'e'll send ye to prison with me. Guilty by association, savvy? And there'll be no one to take care of me kids like you can."

Fantine stared coldly at him. "What will you do?"

"I'm going back to distract them, don't you worry about me, lass. I'll escape jus' fine. If you go now and hide in Vierge Harbor, they won't catch up with you." He helped her up to the driver's seat.

"Why don't you come with me?"

Jack took a step back. "You know I can't, lass. A pirate's got to be free. Besides, they'd suspect things and catch us if one of us doesn't provide a diversion."

She nodded. "Say goodbye to your children."

Jack stuck his head into the carriage. "Well, goodbye kids. I won't be seeing you for some time."

"Father! Where are you going? Can I come?"

"No, I'm afraid not this time, Robert, maybe when yer older. But when I come back, I'll have more stories to tell you, savvy?"

"I love stories! I want to be a pirate, so I can meet Bluebeard!"

"Let's hope not," Jack gave Erin a kiss, who tugged on a braid and giggled. "Be good to yer new brothers, alright?"

"Father, where do babies come from?"

Jack waved and shut the door quickly. "Goodbye, lass."

"Goodbye, Captain." She said gravely.

"I know it hurts, but-"

"You can't hurt me anymore than you already have, Captain Sparrow. The payment's doubled. For two. Have a good journey." She cracked the reins, and the carriage pulled on down the road and out of sight. Jack crossed his arms. Lord, she was a fickle creature. He was going to put his life at risk for hers, and she was _mad _at him? He supposed she would thank him later. Much, much later. At that, he sashayed down the road.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cutler Beckett was waiting for him at the door. "Mr. Smith! Where are your children? Your sister?"

"Er… she wanted some more time to… say goodbye… to me wife. The guard stayed behind to guard 'er, being as women need more guarding than men, especially my sister, and the priest was busy saying an 'Ail Mary."

"A Hail Mary?"

Jack paused. "Yes. An 'Ail Mary. So I told 'em I'd scurry down the road by me onesies, and they could use the carriage to get 'ome. Now, Commander, if ye'll excuse me…"

"You take the death of your wife surprisingly well." He called after him. Jack turned. "I'd expect you to show a bit more… grief."

"Ah yes," Jack removed his hat. "Well, I'm one who takes things like this very well. As a… poor merchant who has to endure treacherous waters filled with pirates, I've lost many a good man in my life. I've come to expect it," he finished with a dramatic sadness, and lifted his arm to put on his cap. Beckett grabbed his arm and forcefully lifted up his sleeve. Blast. It was his right arm, and it revealed the "P" tattoo that was a blatant indicator of his real profession.

"Pirate!" Beckett cried victoriously. "I might have known." He lifted his sleeve up further. "Captain Jack Sparrow. Well, well, well. The navy's been looking for your father for quite some time, now. Maybe you could help us out."

Jack winced. "What makes you think I could give any information to you on my father? If _you_ haven't found out any info, _I _certainly don't know anything. You see, he owes me money, so he-"

"That's enough of your excuses," Beckett pulled him towards the direction of the inn. "Once Admiral Wadsworth finds out I've apprehended Captain Jack Sparrow _and_ the crew of the _Fair Annie_ in little under 48 hours, I'll surely be promoted."

Jack pushed Beckett off of him. "I really don't like to be man-handled," he said, pulling out his sword. Beckett pulled out his sword as well, and lunged at him. Jack stepped back, and took another swing, but Beckett dodged and took a slash at him from the left, which Jack blocked. Beck took a low swing with his sword, but Jack jumped over the blade and stepped on it, making Beckett drop the sword. Jack took a knife from his boot and grabbed Beckett's arm, carving a serrated "J" into his right arm. Beckett screamed in anguish.

"A little something to remember me by." Jack grinned, swiftly putting the blade back. It would leave a scar. Beckett took this time to grab a pistol he had in his belt and shoot Jack in the chest. Luckily, however, he shot it left-handed, as his right arm was injured, and he missed Jack's heart, hitting him in the ribs. Jack clutched his side in pain.

"A little something to remember _me_ by." Beckett gritted his teeth. Jack turned round, and looked up. There was a cord connecting two poles, one here, and one at the docks, and Beckett had slashed at the rope that was holding the weight that kept the cord tight.

"Oh, what a coincidence! Be seeing ye, mate." Jack grabbed the rope as it went up when the weight came down, and up Jack went. Then, once he was up next to the cord, he took out the handkerchief Fantine had handed to him before and used it to slide down the cord with, Cutler firing left-handed shots at him the entire way. When he was at the bottom, Jack slid down another rope that was attached to a rope, instantly regretting it when he burned his hands.

"Ow, hot hot hot hot hot…" he continued to run on until he approached a ship, _The Margaret, _and walked casually up to the crew.

"Hullo."

"Good morning, sir."

"I'm afraid there was a bit of a brawl back at the inn you all are staying at. One of the corporals, Thomas I think it was, got a bit tipsy and knocked over a few chairs, and somehow it grew into a full-blown soldier's fight. Commander Beckett sent me to tell you all he wants you to help him break up the fight. It seems Corporal Thomas is a mean drunk."

"I always knew he was," one seaman shouted.

The man in charge sighed. "Very well. Lancaster, watch over the ship while we're gone." They all exited the ship, one of the cabin boys excitedly calling the other crew members of the other two ships to come and see the fight. They left as well.

Once they were all out of sight, Jack sauntered over to the young boy named Lancaster, who watched his every move like a hawk.

"Tell me, young lad, 'ave you ever wanted to be…" he paused dramatically, "a _pirate_?"

"Why, no." Lancaster replied.

"Oh. Sorry." Jack pushed him overboard. Singing to himself, he swiftly got the ship in ship shape, and set off.

"What shall we do with a drunken sailor, what shall we do with a drunken sailor, what shall we do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning…."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Good points to you if you finished the whole thing! pause Even better points to you if you review! 


	15. The Real Reason

**Author's Note:** Well, it's been a couple of months, hasn't it, readers? I managed to squeeze out another chapter but I'm sort of stuck at this point. I've got a good part coming up that I'm working on, I just don't know how to fill up the plot space. Oh yeah, and I think I've fixed the flame situation. I'm putting all three chapters that have to do with MarySue into one big chapter, which solves the problems with little chapters as well. Oh, and I might put a prologue in front, to help explain where this story is going. Thanks for sticking with me for so long!

Also, I do not have a beta for this fic; spelling errors abound. I don't even know if that makes sense.

* * *

At 25, Captain Will Turner was a very well-traveled person. He lived in England until he was about 12, when he was taken to Port Royal and lived there for 8 years. Then, when he met Captain Jack, he traveled to many strange places in search for treasure. He had seen the rough taverns of Tortuga, and the elegant halls of the mansions of Port Royal. He had been to Singapore; he had seen various regions of the underworld several times, due to his recent career choice. (Well, not exactly _choice_.) He had nearly been eaten by a group of cannibals on the island of Mikee Moosa, and he had braved the weird and haunted shores of Davey Jones' locker. But Will had never been to Louisiana.

"Jack," Will said as Jack stared at his compass, "I've known you for a while now. You're not the type to go visiting women that generally don't like you unless you need to take advantage of something."

"You_ do_ know me." Jack squinted at his compass, then turned it upside down.

"So," Will continued, "what is it that you _really _want? What's in Louisiana that you think is important enough to see your wife after 6 years?"

Jack glanced at Will, then back at his compass, and shook some water out of it. "Nothing important. A trinket, of sorts."

"A trinket? What kind of trinket? Is it a key? Like the one to the Dead Man's Chest?"

"Not exactly…"

"A coin?"

"No-"

"What is it, then?"

"It's nothing of consequence, really, just something that's close to me 'eart-"

"If it were nothing of consequence, Jack, you wouldn't venture thousands of miles away to go and get it. And if it were something _really _close to your heart, you wouldn't have let it go, or for that matter, let it go for six years. You must have _just_ found out something special about it… something you need in order to get something bigger."

Jack pretended to be interested in a rip in a sail. "So what's all that to you then, young Will?"

"There's only one thing that Captain Jack Sparrow would risk confronting an embittered young lass for," said Bootstrap Bill Turner, climbing up to the crow's nest, "Treasure."

"Hullo, Bootstrap, my sentimental old friend," Jack turned. "You accompanied me through half of all the rot that led up to this, didn't you? Ye seem to 'ave me figured out pretty well, then?"

"'Course I do, Jack," Bootstrap smiled down at him, making his already worn, leathery face look even more like a used saddle, "The reason why yer not tellin' Will is that ye know, despite the fact that 'e's a good lad, 'e's a pirate jus' like you, and what pirate don't want treasure?"

Jack faltered.

"Jack," Will addressed him seriously, "You're a good friend, and I would expect a good friend to tell me his ulterior motives for using my ship and taking up my valuable time. If you think otherwise, then I don't think I can offer any more hospitality, and we'll force you to walk the plank. I'm sure you can swim to the America's from here."

Jack swallowed, half-dismayed and half-impressed. "You certainly are a pirate, Will, I'll give ye that."

"If it's treasure you seek, I'll gladly help you find it with the use of my ship."

"That's a fine offer, lad-"

"On one condition."

Jack sighed. He knew this was coming. "And what would that be?"

"I want seventy percent of your findings."

"Seventy percent? But _I'm _the one who knew about the treasure in the first place."

"Sixty, then. It's my boat."

"Fifty."

"Done." Will smiled.

"'Owever, I 'ave to be sure ye'll keep yer word and not take more than bargained," Jack leaned against the mast. "You _are_, after all, a pirate."

"I swear on my father's grave that I won't take more than bargained for."

"Yer dad's standin' right there!"

"Yes, but he's already technically died, so I can swear on it anyway, even though it's currently not in use."

"No, no, that sounds too much like something I'd make up if I were lying. Let me see… ah!" Jack grinned. "Swear on yer child's life."

"My child?" Will said, surprised.

"Aye. Elizabeth's pregnant, is she not? S'why she couldn't come. An' I won't 'ave ye swear on 'er life; she's already been to the Underworld and did quite well. It'd be just my luck if ye swore on yer wife's life and she came back from the dead, and then ye'd 'ave yer family _and_ the treasure to boot. Where does that put me? So swear on yer unborn child's life, and I'll know it's fer certain."

Will looked at his father, who had abandoned his children for so many years for a life Will pursued now. He closed his eyes. "I swear it."

"Good, we 'ave a deal then. Shake 'ands on it?"

Will uncertainly took Jack's hand, and shook it.

"Marvelous. Well then, I suppose ye need to know what we're pursuing before we pursue it, eh?"

"Aye."

"Right. A few months ago, I was taking a casual stroll through the town of Dor, looking to steal a ship as I always do, and I nearly succeeded when a few lads belonging to the Royal Navy caught me. Well, as soon as they identified me, they locked me up right away, and I was to be hanged the next day. Or is it hung? I should know by now, they've bloody sentenced me to it a thousand times over. Anyway, I told meself, _think like Will_, and with the proper leverage, the cell door came off in seconds.

There was a young woman in the cell next to mine, and as I was strolling out of the jail, she told me in exchange for letting 'er out of the cell, she would give me something very special indeed. Well, she was a pretty lass, and I am a gallant creature eager to help, so I released her as well.

When we were well out of sight, I told 'er to cough up whatever it was that she 'ad in store for me. She told me then that she was a gypsy fortune-teller and would tell my fortune for free. I was needless to say disappointed, but then she yanked a lock of me hair out, pulled out a bottle from 'er cleavage, and sprinkled my hair into its contents. Then, she drank it."

"She drank _your hair?_ That must've been disgusting!" Will gagged.

"Well then, 'er 'ead snaps back and 'er eyes turn real blue, and she speaks. Not in 'er normal voice, it sounded like there were two voiced coming out of one throat. She said something like acquiring the treasure I seek could only be found with the treasure I already have. It rhymed, I remember. And then she said, 'The journey begins with the eye of Mo Lin.' And then her eyes returned their normal brownish color and she asked me where her Uncle Gerard was.

So I left the gypsy and stole a ship like I intended to. Well, it was more of a little one-man boat, but it still counted for something. I was sailing a few nights later, wondering why Mo Lin stuck out in my head, thinking of the jail cell and hanging and leverage, when I remembered the Isle de Muerte and all the treasure there. And then I remembered a time back when I was the captain of the _Pearl,_ when we plundered a large vessel coming from China loaded with swag. The British East India Company had established a port in Guangzhou about 70 or 80 years ago I'd say, and we were eager to get a hold of anything coming from the Orient.

Anyway, there was one particularly shiny jewel I had my eye on, and a Chinese fellow from our crew told me it was the Eye of Mazu, a Chinese woman who became a sea goddess. See, Mazu's human name was Mo Lin, and she was given second sight by a goddess Kuan Yin. The Eye of Mazu was supposed to protect ships from dangerous storms and whatnot. 'Owever, we encountered a storm right before 'eading to the Isle de Muerte, so I tossed it in a trunk with some other treasure, dismissing it as just any old jewel. But I guess it's not any old jewel, otherwise the gypsy wouldn't 'ave told me my journey for riches beyond compare begins with it."

"So?" Will asked, intrigued, "Did you find it?"

Jack sighed. "So after I 'ad my epiphany, I 'eaded straight for the Isle de Muerte. There was still a lot of treasure there, even though Barbossa 'ad come through a couple times, claiming what 'e thinks is rightfully 'is. I looked and looked for that chest that I tossed the Eye of Mazu into, but I couldn't find it. So I thought I'd 'ave to go run after Barbossa and see if 'e took it, but then I remembered I 'ad gone there a few years back and taken a bit o' loot. And I _knew_ I had taken that chest somewhere, but I didn't remember opening it. So where could it be? And then it came to me: it was at the only place I've ever shipped any treasure from the Isle de Muerte. It was in the Grand Isle, with Fantine."

Will stared at Jack. "That's the real reason you're going to see your wife."

"Aye."

"Because you're looking for a treasure."

"Aye."

"But do you even know what the treasure you seek _is_?"

Jack shrugged. "Not _exactly_, but I'm sure whatever I seek is most likely very large in quantity and will help my income immensely."

Will sighed. "I shook hands with you, Jack, so I'm with you." He paused, and said under his breath, "I just hope it's worth it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack's enchanted compass, for once, actually worked for him. It wasn't long until the dark line of land appeared on the horizon. Louisiana.

"Eventually we'll 'ave to leave the ship." Jack said, glancing at his compass. "I don't know if she lives next to the boast or inland. We may 'ave to do a bit of searching."

"No need." Will turned to a man swabbing the deck. "Granger, fetch the looking glass."

"Aye aye, captain." The man went to the captain's quarters and returned presently, carrying a mirror-like object.

"Put it here." Will cleared off a table cluttered with maps as Granger gingerly laid the looking glass down. He turned to Jack. "Tia Dal… Calypso gave it to me. Shortly after I became Captain. It shows me what I command it to. I use it to see Elizabeth," he added dreamily, a look on his face that made Jack's skin crawl.

"How sweet. Will it show Fantine's house?"

"Let's see," he leaned over the looking glass, and said, "Show me the house of Fantine Pascal."

The looking glass emitted a pale glow, and its center seemed to suck in like water going down a drain. The captains' reflections were replaced by blurred images of a winding canal, a wood flooded with dark water, and a little hut sitting on a spit of land where the canal forked. After a moment, the images drained again, and the reflections of Jack and Will returned.

"She lives on a canal." Jack rubbed his temples. "We'll 'ave to go by the rowboats and find somewhere to tie up the _Flying Dutchman._"

"Don't be silly."

Jack looked at him blankly. He didn't like the way Will used the word "silly" when making references to him. "Silly" was a word that one uses to describe the thoughts of the female sex, not Captain Jack Sparrow's. "I'm not silly," Jack mumbled, sulking.

"We just need to find the canal."

Jack looked at his compass, and pointed. "Let's see… I want to find the canal more than anything… canal… canal… canal…." He pointed. "That way. No, wait. That way."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, aren't I? I 'ave an excellent sense of direction."

"You didn't know which way the sun set." Bootstrap remarked from the rigging.

"No one asked you!" Jack called up to him. "I don't even remember that, besides."

"It was when we were delivering Erin. And ye were using the same compass. You were drunk, probably."

"If I were _drunk_, then I would've remembered it." Jack waved him off. "Anyway, the compass is pointing northeast, so northeast we shall go."

Will wondered if there were any people standing at the coast, looking on at the ghostly ship that turned this way and that as Jack and the Turners bickered about directions.

"Look! Right there," Jack pointed. "I saw that in the looking glass, I'm sure of it."

"I think you're right." Will turned the wheel and _The Flying Dutchman_ headed for the canal straight on. Jack looked a little nervous.

"Not that I know anything about sailing, but wouldn't it be a good idea to… get to the rowboats?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Positive. Hold on." There was a knob in the middle of the wheel, and Will pulled it out and twisted it. The ship gave a great groan and began to sink. Jack grabbed the mast and held his breath. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked at the crew around him. Granger had continued his swabbing, although it seemed a bit unnecessary as they were underwater. Jack looked at Will, who was still at the wheel, staring ahead casually. When Jack could hold his breath no longer, he let it out, and discovered he could breathe regularly. The trunks of the submerged trees drifted by him, and a fish stared, surprised as fish can look, as the ship made its way down the canal. Jack stared back at the fish, until it was caught up from a bird above the surface. Bad luck to him.

Presently, the ship began to rise again to the surface. Jack gasped in the air and looked back at Will, who grinned.

"Sometimes it's fun, you know, being the captain of a ghost ship. Your makeup's running, by the way."

Although it had been a sunny afternoon when the ship reached the canal, it was dark here. A thick canopy covered the everglade, and the only lights that were present were the beams of sun shining through the holes in the tree tops and a twinkling light up ahead. The canal had widened, and up ahead it forked. Sitting in between was the house Jack had seen in the glass, with a little garden in the front and yellow light in some of the windows. A road led from behind the house around to the front, where a dock floated that didn't seem to have been used in a while.

"That's it." Jack said apprehensively, a grave look on his face. "We… you should…"

"No, no, now is the time to tie up the _Dutchman_." Will smiled. "You go in there first, and I'll follow once everything here is in ship shape."

Jack swallowed. Granger and another man pulled out a large plank and set it down on the dock. Jack reluctantly swaggered down the plank and slowly made his way to the house. He could hear the voices of children inside.

"Mama! Teague took my dolly!"

"Teague!"

"I'm James!"

"James, then!"

"I was just joshing, mama, I'm Teague."

"Don't fool with me, both of you, or you will both go to bed with no dinner. Understood? Robert, for heaven's sake, put the book down and come-"

Jack knocked on the door.

The voices stopped. Footsteps. Jack stepped back and did his best to wipe away the makeup streaming down his cheeks. The door opened slowly, and there stood Fantine, a skillet in her hand, slack-jawed.

"Y-you…"

"'Ello, poppet." Jack grinned.

Fantine made a terrible screeching sound and threw the frying pan at his head. Jack went black for a second, then came to once he hit the ground.

"Blimey! You 'aven't changed t'all, I'd say. Why the devil did you-"

"You get out of here!" She ran back into the kitchen and returned with several other objects- another pan, a spoon, a book, a boot- and began chucking them at him. "Out! Get out! You bring nothing but trouble here!"

"Stop…stop… will you stop and let a man get to 'is feet? I just need one thing from you and then-"

"Need?" Fantine laughed incredulously, "What on earth could you _need_ from me that you haven't taken already?"

"An eye." Came a rough voice from the ship. Fantine dropped the boot, astounded.

"Bootstrap!" she cried gaily, pushing past Jack. Jack turned and watched Fantine throw her arms around the old sailor as he stepped onto the dock. "Oh, Bootstrap, I thought I'd never see you again! And that must be your son, why, I expected him to be so much younger! He looks just like you!" she clasped Will's hands. "I am Fantine."

"A pleasure," Will replied, not quite sure what to say.

"Oh, Bootstrap, Jack told me you were dead!"

"I was dead," Bootstrap Bill Turner smiled at her, "but Will brought me to life again."

"It's a bit of a long story." Will interjected.

"Ah, but I love long stories! Come, come inside, you are all welcome in my house! You must tell me of your adventures!" She took Will's arm and walked with the Turners inside. Upon passing Jack, Fantine gave him a look so cold, so fierce, that it made Jack jump back a bit and murmur something about the boat. Will grinned at his father. He liked her already.


End file.
